1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come