Hitherforth XVI.

Quinkle fother on thy forst
ai bronk tow nutter kwist.
Is alowonder thinner on
and scruttered in thy wrist?

Begonnst thon wobber I begust –
we boggle hither now encrypt!

No opper bwimble is that forth
but ner I kwinst therr twek.
Nor wibber hith is norgel twunn
forth jodder cropt has now begunn.

Hitherforth XV.

vohShatter, it’s on!
unbrimmbeld Tusked my hearts Colossodon.
thy Monastery Flock unhumps.
so many a Bitter Revelation berunkels
thy Kin-Tree in Warden
since Swiftwatery Cliffs no coverich
at bronkal the hitherfull Jeskai Windscouts.
Disowned by my Ancestor he blimbels.
whilest Rush in Of minor a Battle begouts
in Bloodfire his Mentor gommpers hardest
for thotter Chief Of The Scale unwindsts
a witherfull sprouting Armament Corps.
wherast no Secret Plans might wonner her blisp.
so End Hostilities my margel cries.
but Forest in dwimbel modest much begoust!

Hitherforth XIV.

A fetid runemark of ancestral vengeance
writes into being three typhoid rats.
And smoldering swines return to the earth
to hunt down the weak in valorous stance.
Outcast Prickleboar!
Then touch of moongloves and might of the masses
sends high priest to sleep in Angel’s tomb.
And knightly valour above dismal blackwaters
forthicates visionary gore hither fruit of first tree
Ringwarden owl!
(Let healing hands of possessed jailer read thy bones!)

Hitherforth XIII.

Barthottel, barthattel
all is good crackle!

In thothest hither I go forth –
unbronkest though thy thibber is,
another up thy githerlies –
in all I found great thithertorth.

Bouthotter in what I found,
among thy hitherforthest ground,
no matter how deep it is bound,
my thither goes hitherforth round!

Karwittel I bronkst in thy trust.
Wherast you gottest into my rust.
I keepet it warmth hither ny dust.
But disgust, but disgust, but distrust?!

Arwilack I thotter thou doom,
but wobber in all glotterboom,
for thouthest inermorthest gloom,
I hitherforth belotter… – Whom?

Hitherforth IX.

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!