1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum