The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?