The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The genealogist with field and fess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb