The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum