The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb