This message was from LISA_WHITE@HMCO.COM to BILL WHITE,
originally in conference Netmail
and was forwarded to you by BILL WHITE.
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Thought you might enjoy this gem from the Oxford-Cambridge Club of
Bulletin, courtesy of Pixie.
Poet Tree Without Mist Aches
I have a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye cannot sea
When eye strike a quay, right a word
I weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong or wright
It shows me strait away
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two late
And eye can put the error rite
Its rarely, rarely grate
I've run this poem threw it
I'm shore your pleased to no
It's letter perfect in it's weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.
 Sauce unknown
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