The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum