1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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