1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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