The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
He's gone to London how the echo rings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb