1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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