and scant the trilleths flew....
a process serving naught but fraught with sponderlific dew....
will it compare...or clank, dispare...the wenkerblendly rift....
is it plink...or is it plonk...a cursor...or a gift?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Blimey! I'm not entirely sure what to make of this poem, but it sure is imaginative.