He bent right down to pick up his valise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum