The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
The best of all things to an end must come