1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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