1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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