When you wore
Through Stalin
Would you head up hammy
And darned be effete
Of the dole
At the end neither storm
As the golden scan
And the Swedes of the song of a lot
All come from whirlwind
Or Cointreau rain
There are fiends
The Peter asked tent blown
Or kind
War come
Withhold paying you are
Than torment for her role walk were alarmed
You Ned World pork at our lungs
One come
To grinned
Organs
Through train
The new drains of it whirls them below
Will calm
War come
Withhold renew our house
And inept reward and warm
Relent the walk Carole
What grounds
Or ground
Withhold then you are
An engine air their war the alarm
Your nether wall Carole
All gone now
Khan
Withhold pin your are
Are in your lair the war furlongs
You the number of mobile
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1 comment:
Chaucer through a spell checker:
When that April with his shores soothe
The drought of march hath perked to the rote,
And bathed every vine in switch labour
Of which virtue engendered is the flour;
When Zephyrus eek with his sweeten breath
Inspired hath in every holt and heath
Tender croppers, and the younger sonnet
Hath in the ram his halve course Yvonne,
And smile fowls make melody,
That spleen al the night with open ye
(so privet hem nature in her corsages);
Thane longer folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmers for to seen strange strands,
To fern hales, kowhai in sundry lodes;
And specially from every shires ended
Of England to Canterbury they wended,
The holy blissful martyr for to seek,
That hem hath hope when that they were seeker.
Bifid that in that season on a day,
In Southwark at the tabard as I lay
Reedy to wended on my pilgrimage
To Canterbury with full devout cordage,
At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine and twenty in a campaigned,
Of sundry folk, by adventure fallen
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they ale,
That toward Canterbury wooden ride.
The chambers and the stables were wide,
and well we were seed ate beset.
And shortly, when the sonnet was to reset,
so hade I spoken with hem ever chon
That I was of her fellowship anon,
and made forward early for to ryes,
to take outré way there as I yow devise.
But knotholes, while I have time and space,
Err that I farther in this tale pace,
Me thicket it accordant to resound
To teller yow al the condition
Of echo of hem, so as it seemed me,
And which they were, and of what degree,
And eek in what array that they were inner;
And at a knight than wool I first beginner.
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