1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come