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
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
It's one of many horrid happenings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum