1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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