Another poem

Mar 14, 2005
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I have a spelling chequer,

With inn my knew pea see.

It plane lea marques four my revue

Mist aches eye can knot sea.

Eye strike a quay and type a word

And weight four it two say

Weather eye am wrong oar rite

It shows me strait a weigh.

As soon as a mist ache is maid

It nose bee fore two long,

Sew eye can put the era rite

Its rare lea ever wrong.

I'm aid it cheque this poem,

I'm shore yore glad two no.

Its let her perfect inn it's weigh

Com pewter tolled me sew.

My chequer is a gods end,

If frieze up lodes of thyme.

It cheque's and scan's awl kind's of pro's

And AIDS me when eye rime.

Each frays com posed up on my screen

I trussed two bee a joule

My chequer stud ease every word

It never brake's a rule.

Butt now bee cos my spelling

Is checked with such grate flare,

Their are know faults with in my cite,

Of witch eye am a wear.

Yew toucan sea why eye dip end

On such a yews fool quay.

It helps my verse to floe just write

And watt is more, its free.

Sauce unknown


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