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!
Hitherforth thou shallt, my friend
not listen tow your sins!
We lay besieged by holyness,
not swivering at chins.
Where theist is tow on tow,
no swivvel did I got,
but if thy dibberwabberling is wonk,
thou shall be Patonk!