The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?