1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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