805 The coffee-pot f’lofficer (Er caffettiere fisolofo)
Translated by Peter Nicholas Dale
The men a this wirld, well, the lod are all like . .
Beans in a coffee grinder as they're getten groundèd:
Wun pops up after anutha as they riggle in that tite
Space, but in the end they're all faded ta be pounded.
Offen they switch pozzies, an wun'ull elbow away,
If he's bigger, the smaller bean ta the ouder,
They tumble ad each utha's heels in the doorway
T'wards the ion screw’ut'ull flatten’em in’a mere powder.
An that's how men live here on earth, I've foun’:
Fate wirks the lottuv’em in’u’a fine blend
As it spins’em, wun an all, round an roun’,
An as each wun moves, slow or strong, big or thin,
They all sift thru, clueless, ta the bottom, an end
Up fallen down its craw as deth drinks’em in.
The sonnet is translated into "Strine", the dialect spoken in Australia
down to the 1960s.