Once arbored were the forestels
Where forest elves unharbored floated
Batwing sail and camponed bell
With wind-beleaguered hope.
Still all unhappenstancied now
Their broken walls unbowered loated
Maddened slime’s besleetitch plow
Of city-streeted slope.
Oh, flit again beleafed and fly
Beneath that winter-bitten sky
Where flutter-byted bittern cried
We’ll bind a better tope
When arbored once again our slope
With camponing rehopes our now
Besleetitch plow all under-toped
To mind our best renown.