The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum