The pros of Prose

The witch, which never won one thing, save for a rose, would chop wood.
She never saw a saw or did see the sea but she rose the rose.
Since she had won just one she didn't make any rows.
But with her hose and her hoes she crafted some rows such that if she won one more, which witch which was called a moor, she have room for one more rose.

Oftentime on the rose there would to be a bee.
The bee told a fanciful tale but never stung her with his tail. He'd say,

Oh witch, which would chop wood, there is something more too see. Believe my tale and follow my tail and I will take your eye to see the sea.

Not knowing where or what to wear she asked the bee

If I am to be, to follow the bee, and I can see the sea, should I bring the rose which I rose? Will it know, or will it no?

To be a bee is crafty indeed for it could travel the four miles atop the rose which this witch had rose. And off they set, this unlikely set, the witch, the bee, the rose.

The witch walked carrying the rose and the bee kept his head pointed to see the sea. She believed his tale and so followed his tail and for four miles en route she would rest on the root of many a fallen tree. They saw ores made of lead on the route she was led and the hair of a hare and even once the bow of a beau.

At long last they arrived and it was here they would hear the merry thoughts of Mary, the witch which would chop wood, the witch which rose the rose.

To be a bee! To see the sea! This site in my sight, the sea which I see! The whale does wail, his skin all blue, from his top he blew, the whole of the hole, seen by I with my eye! Buy this shore I am sure I am no more a moor than the sun is a son or the scythe is a sigh!

--me.

and I guess the point is: never disparage someone learning English as a second language. It can be quite tricky.