The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
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