T’ ground rises brantly to nor’-east,
Wi’ t’ walls zigzaggin’ ower t’ intake-
T’ walls ‘at wur builded first by t’ Danes,
Girt dry-steean walls. Noo lambkins laik
In t’ greenin’ pastures. Ragged ewes
Crop steadily an’ niver heed
T’ lambs’ carryin’-ons. A galloway
Whinnies whenever folk leave t’ stead.
Thro’ t’ peartree-flowers, t’ hills are deep-blue
An’ violet; thoo couldn’t match
Theer colour wi’ nowt save a plum.
Below t’ front-door ther is a patch
Of taties, an’ half hid by birks
A river runs wi’ mony a twist
To peaty pools; when t’ wind is low,
When t’ rooks in yonder crow-prate whist
An’ motor-buses stop ther din,
Thro’ t’ windows thoo can hear its sang.
Lile birds cheep oot of brokken shells
An’ curlew whistle t’ whole day lang.
A white hen wi’ her primrose chicks
Chuffs proudly ower t’ daisied grass,
Cluckin’ to folk aboot her brood:
T’ cock watches ’em, as bold as brass.
Black Border Nell has four more pups
-Sich bonnie handfuls wi’ blue eyes.
A new-born calf bleats in a byre;
A cuckoo calls ayont a rise
Of larches. “Luve! coom thi ways in,
T’ winter wur lang an’ lingering,
We’d niver thole it,” t’ farmwife says,
“Save for our hopes o’ t’ coomin’ spring.”
(Dorothy Una Ratcliffe)
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