The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The Turks said just take anything you please
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum