1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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