1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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