1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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