Focus on Frame!
A visit to the retired English professor – Janet Frame
There in the grovertangle where the sun-coltering stilth
galed down, splurned, merged into riper than cleamhold
warmermaze when its skin streakles pomperwelling in summer,
we flindered, melled, wimwalling, hintered.
Olene in his rale after so calid a time had milled its fee
durant, he burndered, cleamed in the day’s coltering zone.
Then we sat under the plum tree
on the wet grass-covered stone
while he talked of Hamlet.
I found these poems in an old poetry anthology from school. Unfortunately there isn't a reference for where they originally came from.