The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum