007 There is no word for Daffodil on Vogon

 

As I tchicked turgid as a louse
That bloated, kribs on knurbled claw.
I saw a decomposing corpse,
Quite full of scabrous parasites,
Beside the slime, beneath the skin
Writhing and retching in the rot.

Contagious as the dank pustules
That glimmer on a tchingrobb face,
They oozed in never-ending globs
Along the yellowness of the bones:
Ten thousand saw I in the mud
Moist, pulsating maggot eggs.

The pallid worms betwixt them squirmed,
But they out-did the worms in gore: -
A Vogon could not but be grim
In such a clammy company:
I sktezked -and sktezked -but little thought
What excess this midden to me brought.

For oft, when in my pus I ooze
In Acrid or in foetid mood,
I, regurgitating blood stained food
Embrace the thought of maggot eggs;
And then my bowel with writhing, gripes
And retches with the parasites.