1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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