1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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