1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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