When one with t'other straightaway agrees
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The genealogist with field and fess
With gravity at gravity's great cog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum