The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The genealogist with field and fess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum