The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The genealogist with field and fess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum