Yondei, through the yella sponct,
Hither, o’er the bright fordedi!
The Meringer approaches,
Colarking her dinfeti.
Watch, the mongs they crest her,
The ripe bicolon ready.
The ploksmag in the flograys hath
No haver in the undley.
Ye pickerc, ye codratic,
Thy Meringer’s upon thee.
The coryne’s singing softly
For thy widow’s abicessi.
The unenlightened pontonat
Gagges and chetts his fooni.
But you, my valiant Savamo,
May triumph in thy kinsi.
Beneath the harsh sponct and outer dinfeti, we can see the underlying humanity (Vogonity?) of the poet.
ReplyDeleteMy captcha for this comment is "staber."
I like how Robert always calls captchas capchas. What an idiiiiiot. =)
ReplyDeleteI have no idea what's going on.
ReplyDeletei dont have to put in captchas. so.
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