The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
The understanding critic firstly sees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb