1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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