Three minuuts is all me’ve got
to fix sense of it, alles not.
Whutis time in tru sens of tings
wen you and mestart to zings
of lifinluv of all that is,
or izunt, in this heady quiz?
Life’ll livun tillit diez
then whutstocomm in the skiez?
Dusto dust is whutis sade
anthen what – where dus dust go?
I dunno and don tinktha you do too.
I'd like to tinktha dust arrize – surprize!
Koment doz not define dedend.
Iznotso ezzy to defend it.
Dustit fliz, in air it blos
to landzen, feilsen, mountens too.
Life beginagin an then enden witit.
Three minuuts to hold dust in my heart.
Categories:
doz, death, heart, language, mountains,
Form: Vogon Poetry