The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb