The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come