Yestermorrow is a silly place,
filled with cake and crime and clocks,
And some are convinced that to get there,
you may not be wearing socks.
Our hero didn't believe this scat,
but he had taken all precautions,
So he rode the trails quite sockless,
...only cautions rhymes with precautions.
He was also told to backwards, ride,
but his horse could not this manage,
So onto his shoulders he hoisted his steed,
there goes the speed advantage.
A quaint village, he finally did reach,
exhausted to his very bones,
It was a very backwards place
filled with wails and moans.
"Be this Yestermorrow?"
the vagabond then asks,
"On, ti ylerus t'nsi,"
says man who in sun basks.
"Sit' Worromretsey," he went on,
in his blimey backward tongue,
"Then I leave," said our hero,
And 'way from there he sprung.
"Where now, Sir Peter?"
he asked the horse upon his back,
"Look there," said horse,
"I see a crooked shack!"