The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The genealogist with field and fess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The best of all things to an end must come