1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum