The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
That suede ferments is not at all well known
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum