1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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