1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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