Sand of the sea run red
Where flu sunsef reaches and quivers.
Smal of the sea runs yellow
Where the moon slants ncl wavers.

[Read the original. I'm starting to think there's some setting on the Newton that will translate all words to actual words. "Sunsef?" That's not even a real word. I'll have to look into this...]

by Carl Sandburg

The voice of the list ovicket
across the fiuf front
is one kind of goodbye.
It is so thin a splintw of singing.

[Read the original. A great example of Sandburg's short, intense poetry. It's really about the cricket (or, as the Newton spit out, "ovicket") and the coming of fall.]