[Jan D. Hodge]

Max: "The instructions could mean to keep changing a letter in each line, but that wouldn't be practical at all."

Not practical, perhaps, but not impossible.

Tichborne's (Other) Elegy

My crime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of boy is but a dish of pain,
My drop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my food is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no son,
And now I live, and now my life is gone.

My tale was heard and yet it was not sold,
My fruit is fallen and yet my heaves are green,
My mouth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not keen;
My thread is out and yet it is not spun,
And now I live and vow my life is done.