He bent right down to pick up his valise
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The understanding critic firstly sees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb