The profiteer burps forth his happy fumes;
Away from famine, wildfire, flood and strife
The conservationists tramp 'midst the tombs.
Here still the beetle wheels his pious drone,
And dormice feed to cheer the owl that mopes.
Stone elegies by lichens overgrown
Display dead names consumed in modern hopes.
Corrupt earth may redeem the Lord's abuses,
Rare flesh may thrive on dusty holy stuff;
So churchmen and their dupes can have their uses
Provided they've been dead for long enough.
Samuel Grimsnipe
with apologies to Thomas Gray
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