They're are sew many homophones,

And awl of them eye hate!

Whenever eye try to right with them,

I can knot get them strait.

They leave me stationery,

And eye can knot move a bit.

Eye sea awl my mistakes,

But no knot what too make of it.

Even inn this poem,

Eye maid a mess of this thing.

If only eye could fix what eye rote,

My poem just mite wring.

Alas, there is nothing eye can due,

Four this poem is doomed to fail.

When ewe try to rite with homophones,

Eye prey ewe prophet from my sew sad tail.