He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
The genealogist with field and fess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum