1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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