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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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