Oh thou withered stumps, your coronets have dulled,
Grown thick and opaque as auroch's horn.
Bristles sprout as from a sow's snout,
In your wrinkled, mottled hides.
I will spare thee the indignity of the flip-flop,
And swathe thee in finest cotton and leather,
Lest folk take fright at your hideous deformities.