1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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