1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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