1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
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
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