iPoem · 1897.6930.732.114 · Cent mille milliards

1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?

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