The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum