Re: Roland Deschain Poetry
The sky was clire, - The Sky was clear
and the dat was brigit, - and the day was bright
when Roland, the Lasten Fusenslanker, - when Roland, the Last Gunslinger
calumphed abrawn his trasten skree, - galloped upon his trusted steed
and luffed his civvie gamint. - and loved his... something garment? (riding clothes?)
He travested lung and wats, - He traveled long and wide
hit and slink, - high and low
in a kenler-ently scrutch - in a keen search?
his sine and otontly gull; - his single and only goal;
the Drunt Traster. - the Dark Tower.
Sine hundred shers came and gunt, Several hundred years came and went
each trendling out longer than the lasten. - each turning(?) out longer than the last
His trasten skree gunt long agray, - His trusted steed gone long ago
and when he fundy the Traster, - and when he found the Tower
to his agumph it sant there. - to his anguish it wasn't there.
~ There'll be Chocolate, if God wills it. ~