1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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