1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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