He bent right down to pick up his valise
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
His toga rumpled high above his knees
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb