1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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