1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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