1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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