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
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum