Мертвые лебеди упали в застоявшийся пруд.
Они упали. Они гнили. Они переворачивались изредка.
Куски тел отпадали от них
время от времени.
И тонули в болотной грязи пруда.
Они также воняли довольно сильно.
Natnat, да-да-да)))
Известная история - это и в книге есть. Вот цитата: "Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second worst is that of the Asgoths of Crea. During a recitation by their poetmaster Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found in my Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal hemorrhaging and the president of the mid-galactic Arts Knobbling Council survived only by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been "disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of his 12-book epic entitled "My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles" when his own major intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through his neck and throttled his brain. The very worst poetry of all perished along with its creator, Paul Neil Milne Johnstone of Redbridge, in the destruction of the planet Earth. Vogon poetry is mild by comparison."
Я очень удивился, когда узнал, что этот самый Paul Neil Milne Johnstone был вполне реальным человеком...