1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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