It was a burly borrowful day
and so the crogs were friggling
Across the bleaming flurring bay
The glimphy woils were wiggling

I wandered through the drinthy prips
Fawning the prepply krickles
The groiling blurbs were doing flips
And fondly slurping pickles

How does the drining irdle flow?
I wondered fairly weeping
And marveled watching tringles grow
Even though their plombs were sleeping
My small plet fimple plarked and browled
Sniffling those glirling wooses
While all around us wimples prowled
And plucked their gressling muses
On the way home my fimple plopped
Down in a clurp of blover
And well I knew that when plets flopped
My promphous glest was over