1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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