The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum