A poem written 2 weeks before 9/11

Ammung the Hillz ov Yisroyel

Thare wuz a Vinyerd.
Its frute wuz sweet.
The vintner gladlee trampeld the grape,
The seed and jusez oozd between toez.
This wuz a vine a mennee blessing.

Thare still iz a Vinyerd.
Small and sellekt it iz.
The breth uppon the slope,
The taest ov the erth and its mennee plowwing
Made chois the frute and the seed.

Thare iz a Vinyerd.
For Hem hu tend it,
Wun and the awl, a hole werld it iz.
And the kulchering ov its frute
Intu its perfektenz
Iz the wun and the all ov Hem.

Not so, how evver
For the suttel serpents,
For the klevver dog-hedz,
For the serlee kat-men,
For the hungree rats and thaer kohorts.

For them, thare iz a vinyerd
Ripe tu pluk, rich tu plunder.
A vinyerd tu konker,
And howl and skweel, "See!
"I am the superseeden!"

Thare iz a vinyerd.
A seed planten thare in haetred
Will gro and sustaen itself.
Its frute iz haetred
And awl its seed ar strivenz
For the longer vine and bitter fruets.

Thare iz a vinyerd.
A seed planter ov aenger
Will produse a frute ov aenger,
Will produse a root an aenger,
Jenneraten ov aenger, ferro after ferro.

Thare iz a Vinyerd.
Tu the annammel-hedded wunz
The frute ov this,
And the frute ov that louk the same.
Wen thay drunken, it taesten the same.

But Hem Hu overseez
Iz choozen Hem frute with kare,
Not the bitter and not the rotten.
This wun iz kalld, the express ov blessing,
And that wun tu wither, the expressen a kers.