PJ Harvey - The Nether-edge

March wull sarch, Eäpril wull try,
Mäy u'll tell if you'll live or die.

Buds a-break and milchi seeps
heady in the meadows
chalky children on the steep
baskets full of shadows

gapmouth spins a rattle song
air's an upturned ocean
swift's an axe hurled in the gloam
splits the Riddle open

Now it looks it almost zounds
wordle zircles wider
with the silence upside down
horse atop the rider

Quaterevil takes a wife:
chilver meets her maker
as the grindstone turns the knife
o'er Eleven Acres

Femboys in the forest find
figs of foul freedom
where the old you left behind
valls through nether-Eden

Some must watch, while some must sleep
so runs the wordle's way;
a not-girl zweal-ed at the stake
a-births the end of May