"XXVIII."
"Pockes in the pewtre agayn, gashe inn that sintacks.
A tran, her nayme sum flynt all redey inn the ash.
I cant stop riting 'tran,' her dubble nayme.
The boyes cull inn 2 a nachurl rowe,
the guarden they flaten wen they pas.
2 wut?
This mornynge I saw u.
A bel spilt inn a feeld.
Onlie ther was no feeld.
And a catheedril is not its bel, but sum wringynge.
No nayme, but 2 wrecken with the wringynge, mye breasthes grone.
A bel I tend, and its stunnynge, a thynge befor its gone."