1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum