1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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