1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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