The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
He bent right down and well what did he seize
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?