'The flird' (a tribute to Lewis Caroll)

Ranging in the streaming gueer,
Strolling round futtle o' kreed,
Dable blowed it wrob.

Gowed and pored to vouch,
Mults gant up through yached,
As for crean-fizzed trees.

Lawn and beelt, torwn but sheal,
Bowed by krangles over dults,
Putle coughs for gatled fates.

Right tight lames squinty,
Though flow riffs our glawn,
'Till gears lunk meastrown.

Rob_muf, 29.3.99