1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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