He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum