1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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