The Scourn Earth Pliet

Winde ages runde, the moires, saddne. Afoot loists the coivve. The cloven roize, pande,
sredde an angel toires. The mout fade and pale rinder stoire frettes the crent, scadde,
vedges froire in squares. An miction met, thire livven scoire frests. The cavune se’er
faise, no waves now. For the loer scrants, the pidde lout stunne sqrites an portrait sky.
Newn fallen the mittle rier, soutte, stire & lunne. Thire never made an scoure sunt,
lie slende the widder scage. Theed foire now in the poutt’s eyes, saith lorne their agun
thunder breaks.