1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come