The Saga of E.Chaw Greens
How wild is thy distopiary,
With tumstall leaves a'rye.
Can there be o'greenyness,
To asperitate this tiny mess,
And doest thy tall slip dye?
Well shall our annimariant,
Sigh, groat and patient pant.
For 'tis crost like cruet buns,
To live this oar of funnytuns,
And oft slive to recant.
Why not withall missolginate,
Thy cransh is not orl'e'ate.
Foulfall fails to clear the bend,
For by chain is flush distend,
And strands thy orful monumate.