1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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