1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum