He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum