1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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