1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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