The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?