The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Bard I adore your endless monologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum