The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb