A mistranslation from the Anglo-Saxon
Say this is new…the water…cripes! They and us then were God!
To and fro for to go, fold bend um ah.
He quacked that he would that one word form.
Enough of them! A libido’s end!
Waters flow in well high on
gay life in dens. The underlift… is it too little?
That? This? The water? Cripes! Wellsprings
of heaven’s rise, that is, “Hail guest!
Don’t hide. Hell Dan, go wail and careen
as if anodyne guerdons did do-good on herds.
Though whales gab and beckon hinder on earth,
go and man a mode, missionary like.”
Some wine were in order. On gay wit locked in
wisdom’s stream (wells of rum withheld)
that he one fun night in a ute deflowered.
Ach! So well wounded… one were breast entombed!
Through dryness’ grief unopened and still.
Some wine let us offer the land, scared
to be rid of its Tory nan. Nissan, Datsun, red licked thing,
gif of saw, lute or water, luddite and undoppled.
Deflowered after feeling dumb. Ohh I hit too fine a word:
a blade and now no drink-can. Now I’m owed right in grief
that I owed Greg or I or us, gay geared heavers,
to drum in our rum the well’s dry nights.
Fill anew his fetters! See thy fastened hind!
Kill, brother, come after, ready,
if he redeigns or welches, thy rein kills.
Brother, to this burden better wine go order.
Thy lays he forshed. Sky-roasted weather
othered him from life’s drink. Forlorn, we order.