Hi,

I was talkiing to (e:TinyPliny) in the chat yesterday and I mentioned that I once wrote a terrible, terrible poem. Years later I put into an online translator, Babel Fish. I translated it from English to French to Spanish to a dozen other languages and then retraced my steps translating it in the opposite order back to English. When I got it back it was lovely nonsense. So, here is my nonsense.

Throw manner hide themselves
I in the town
ways which in the bucket kitchen
the will Ing of migration is
that I and the time find you?

How does the water of bath run far
the way is
and flesh is boneses
which these boneses
wandering and these boneses

find you cold my flesh in the angle air? ,

Or does run away the bucket hide
Smoldering that continues put roofs of roof,
there in the panels of floors or perhaps,
will want you,

find only this part
ventilates the part that I
I far hid throw in mount and
in wandering in the sky the will
that you zoekt here after me?

Since you take the bladen to doré
air melt red and flesh these taters
fall and these boneses are gold
where turn I these find?

Have a spirit under your bladen
of bed of fragrance which is
remaining with the taste of the
wasgott on your lips or a white breath

perhaps swims in air,
one has expired,
I remain memory,
in the part contain thrown far