The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?