The Hornet And The Bittle Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

A harnet set in a hollur tree –
a proper spiteful twoad was he:
And a merrily sung while he did set
His tinge as shearp as a bagganet:
Oh, whoso vine and bowid as i,
I vears not bee, nor wapse, nor vly:

A bittle up thuck tree did clim,
And scarnvully did look at him;
Zays he, 'Zur harnet, who give thee
A right to set in thuck there tree?
Vor ael you zengs zo nation vine,
I tell ‘e ‘tis a houlse o' mine.'

The hornet's conscience velt a twinge,
But grawin' bowld wi his long stinge,
Zays he, 'Possessins's the best laaw;
Zo here th' sha'sn't put a claaw!
Be off, and leave the tree to me,
The mixen's good enough for thee! '

Just then a yuckel passin' by,
Was axed by them the cause to try:
'Ha! Ha! I see how ‘tis! ' says he,
'They'll make a vamous munch vor me! '
His bill was shearp, his stomach lear,
Zo up a snapped the caddlin pair!

Moral

Ael you as be to laaw inclined,
This lettle stwory bear in mind;
vor if to laaw you aims to gwo,
You'll vind they-llallus zar ‘e zo:
You'll meet the vate o these here two,
They'll take your coat and carcass too!