1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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