The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
That suede ferments is not at all well known
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come