The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum