Clouds in the sky
credit: Pexels

Morn holy comes Elysium afortime,

the suns a-ris.

Uhta for-chose today ouver sublime

dew do to pris.

A blome fixes his gay, roseate lens.

Who’ll telle wic ar d’ washerwimmens?

Singeris (sum

wheeled) … who ku—

eth wythutan beads … who happens?