1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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