J.V. Cunningham gives us quite a few poems he called epigrams, a whole collection. Some of them are too long to fit my sense of the epigram, but here's a short one:
from Epigrams: A Journal, #30
This Humanist whom no beliefs constrained
Grew so broad-minded he was scatter-brained.
And a slightly longer one:
from Epigrams: A Journal, #20
After some years Bohemian came to this—
This Maenad with hair down and gaping kiss
Wild on the barren edge of under fifty.
She would finance his art if he were thrifty.
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