1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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