1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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