The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum