1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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