1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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