1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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