1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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