Oh, the Wamble batty caged
Screetching woodwind glithery plumed
Beneath the hearthen quaintness glow
That unsurpasses shacken brood.

We the Nimbly Gleason's spew
Unbequested frothing gnaught
Until the nightly stacken flew
Through gates ammended oathly fraught.

Alas, the dawning of Manshid
Celebrates Zephorrah dew
The rebirth of Naturaackals
Begins the woodwind screetch anew.

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