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A terrible nonsense poem

I’m the guy who posts his own poems online. this one is about drawings of clothes that can eat wood.

Trumpuant old bratriarchs did aplutarp their friends,
when astrogothic misanlips were worply on the mend.
So Mantagorianius and Vilkar of the North,
extrafoluated, and on their horses sallied forth.
“Grelhere” he snaped his miterfork, grelhering all the while,
“I grelhere to utmost max, and yet perforce grelhere in style.”
The Bulwark of the North, Vilkar, was mightily impressed,
and on a wooden table top he scribed little vest,
a pair of slacks, and borlant straps to keep them all athwaite.
Maltruviantic periworts began to integrate
themselves into the dia-gram of gramo-dia-cloths,
the type defined by treaty as those victimized by moths,
the type that, when encountered carved upon a table top
must hastily erasured-be by table ‘rasing cops.
The force of table ‘rasers raced their tabular tontoons
toward the little sketch of vest and straps and pantaloons,
but Mantagorianius rose high his sabre’s spear!
And shouted in a voice both soft and low and high and clear,
“Dear sirs! Grelhere, grelhere at once, don’t rantipariate!
These scribbled scrabbles scrumbled ‘pon this table here of late
are little more than dendrophagographic vest-i-ments,
And gazing ‘pon them suddenly not 15 moments hence
you shall not see these clothes, defined by law as heinous things!
But wait and wait, vesperiate, ’till the moment-weasel sings!”
Waited they amongst the tables on the table trees,
A whistling, sitting deep in saddles, leaning at their ease,
until the weasel weaseled out to sing his weasel song.
Some moments had transpired, 15 full and aptly long.
Turning they their gazes down to oculate but good,
there somehow all the clothing drawn had eaten all the wood.
So Mantagorianius and Vilkar of the North
excused themselves from Hepstiburt and Amilcar the 4th,
those Erasing Cops who had this afternoon enforced
the dictates of the Lemon-Man their matriarch divorced.

You’ve heard the legends say that if you leave here, don’t look back,
keep facing to your destination down the trodden track,
don’t hearken to the snigglements of Periworts behind,
or turning round you’ll view a sight to nullify your mind!
Facing you a riddle whose solution no one knows…
why Maltruviantic Perwirorts are wearing little clothes


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