The wild horse champs the Parthenon's top frieze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
Watching manure and compost coalesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum