"Art thou meaverly?" speaketh one maulkin nearby
Sheltering tiny kittlings from the lumming sky
A wavenger breed, in a chorus of rude desticating
Morfound and hungry, mothertone drenched in mocking
"Art thou lethean?!" respondeth I, continueth I,
In wroth by this ludibrious cat and croodled kittens
"Wist ye not the wind listeth mine abatement?
Scroggins! Thou whilt of feckless indolence!"
Whildom in woad, now in woe, buried deep in leafkins
Fated to the misery of the scorning, laughing welkins
Whose vomit ensorcells the scaturigenous streams
To o'er flood their bounderies, riparian kings
Mine erubescency blushing across my crisping edges
So soon to be chalmed by the mice and insects
Speaks not of times in the green-blue days
When all was good in summer's carefree laze
This is what happens when Courtney has too much time to devote herself to the love of words! Yeah, I busted out the early modern English. :P So if anyone wants to take a shot at translating it, go ahead, lol. I'll tell you if you're right or not.
God bless!
~Courtney