To Fieldworkers of Old in Evenkia
Raw sewage that downstream is heading
To where our tap water’s inletting
Might scare you, but never fear!
The harsh winter weather here
Prevents most diseases from spreading.
Every fairy tale makes itself true
With a witch or a goblin or two.
When a linguist tells tales
What phantasm prevails?
Well, I guess that the phoneme will do.
—Morris Swadesh III
jusht how progreshshive’sh pre-
shervative shpread as di-
shiftsh shetsh of fricativesh
Linguistics teachers, they say,
“An apple won’t keep me away
But the admin of teaching
Has got my hand reaching
For a bottle of strong IPA.”
—Col. O. Nihilist
I think that I shall never see
Syntax done without a tree.
A tree whose roots in mind do grow
To let the thought of humans flow;
A tree that downward grows all day,
And in whose arms words move and play;
A tree that may in questions wear
A wreath of traces in her hair;
Upon whose branches grids repine
To let agreement roles assign.
Poems are made by me and thee,
But syntacticians love a tree.