The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum