Ode to orthography

Will the gods rein in this reign of rain?
Only if we write the right rite.
Flee, flea! Bye-bye! Buy by the sea you see;
The oarsman rows where the rows of rose rose.

At Yule you'll know no doubt
That you're your own hero of yore.
Hoard what the horde whored out
And we'll wheel out a way to weigh the whey.

So sew a veil for this vale of tears;
If no new gnu knew, wood would steal steel.
Let Hugh hew to his coarse course;
Let the foul fowl sip from the vile vial.

Don the bridal bridle, for four is two too many, to many.
Send a male to mail lyres to liars;
When they're there, their mite might tell
Which witch I eye, for its nose knows.

Was Abel able to cane Cain?
Test his mettle with metal, pluck a mote from the moat?
Should you bow to a yew bough, or a beach beech,
Pay a fair fare for the fairy ferry, as the gays gaze?

Let a dodo give a doe dough and not knot it up,
And she'll counsel the council to tax tacks.
On the isle I'll seek a Sikh, and cite this site on sight;
At least I leased it from a lesser lessor!