1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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