1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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