1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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