The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum