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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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