1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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