1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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