The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum