Bemottled stands the weathershroom,
unbronkst and widdeld mightyley.
He saws the lenz in opperswitch
– flatu he notters gelderley.
Oh why do thou beromber mine?
Thyst lofty radix to behold
dost spread on towest bline,
but where the conkerditch
– so bold – is wonking rich,
why dorst thy scoin point mottlewards?
Here’s I – in wibberlingens dretch
where nonesoever winker stands
beside the witherweathers operhetch!