The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
His toga rumpled high above his knees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb