The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb