To the ever late Deutsche Bahn

On the day thes rides to Monkiestead
first we went to Main Railhoff the Headsteads.
Having to cheap a meal, we stumbled upon the frain
of whether to baconbread or to bulgursalad,
and of on which waitingsline to wait
um for our meal to tell.
And after this bewaiting and betelling,
we marked there was little of time
to come in our tug on.
But in an eventful overturn was our tug forlate:
the Dutchbane had the way its deeds.

Twoth, barely come in Ereford on
our nighest tug-to-take gave welcome
and fared away to Monkiestead us asunder.
«The peerless mictionschamber at the hoff
roops thy name twice: when thou first comest
and after thou hadst a bitterdrink.»
Thou stellst the frain: «¿and what if
we rather have no bitterdrink?
Then is thy mictionscoupon but forlorn.»

Third and come unto our endstop
–Monkiestead-on-the-Isser–
we stied the snowbarrow up.
A morrow and a nighmidday were undernum
with snow-to-fare and broken thums
and stolen sticks and unencrypted
exchanges of breeder-buccal-flora.
The fare was well aworth but nowhere poor
in coalhydrates:
we must the nighest week forbring in fast.