poet tree
with mist aches
I have a spell ling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plane lea marques for my revue
miss steaks eye can knot sea
When eye strike a quay, or right a word
I weight four it two say
Weather eye am write oar wrong
It shows me strait a way
■■■ soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee four two late
And eye can putt the error rite
Its rarely rarely grate
I’ve run this poem threw it
I’m shore your plea said two no
Its let her perfect inn it’s weigh
Me chequer tolled me sew
