1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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