He bent right down to pick up his valise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum