Woking through a forest green a poem

I was Woking through a Forest Green when i happenstanced upon a flaxen haired maiden
Yo, she hollered why art though grimacing unhappy knight.
My pain is not my own bellowing as the distance was far
It is far from being a par.

Tis a bad omen, i cried, tis misfortune from above that my komrads suffer
they place their hopes, for it to crash like the sea on rocks
Or like a halibut under a fishermans knife.
It does chafe, like my pants ride up.

Be still my flaxen haired beauty reposed tis their suffering not yours
It is i cried, i suffer as they suffer, the gad flies of disaster
How can such misfortune be, like a boat lost at sea ( with no survivors)
How can i have tea?

Go to them, sooth them then she transposed
Do your magic to assuage their pain
As a saint works miracles, so you banish the devil
As there are miracles in your hands so wave them in the right direction

I shall i said, even to Oakwell, that theatre of pain
I willt be well recieved, as im spout such wisdom
As never mind, it will get better and the tactics were wrong

Still i wokeing through a forest of green, my nymph has flown
So my heart still sinks lower
As the day gets darker
And someone suggests Farker as a replacement
And there is only one thing left
And thats to have a tea.

Not bad eh.