Shu: | Come in, mate. Cun you make any sense of this poem? |
Ella: | Blymme if I make heads err tails of it. |
Jack: | Suckers me! I have no idea what the bloddy bugger 'z about! |
Juanita: | I suppose it was wrutten by one of dem pseudo-modernists. or perhaps by some lousy mystical kraut. |