1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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