A lile wind kindly blaws to-day;
They’re takin’ Dick, fra’ ower t’ way,
To Dallow. Dick ‘ud be reet fain
To rest theer, fur he’s had a main
O’ trouble. He’ll be seventy-four,
Born an’ bred on Dallow Moor.
A shepherd? Ay! a good one, too,
An’ he’ll be missed by not a few:
Seems sich a pity he should go
Just now, but spring cooms varra slow
Into these parts. Afore he died
He said, “Aa! but I’d like to bide
To listen a ring-ousel sing
An’ knaw ‘at it wur really spring,
To hear t’ gowd plover an’ lapwing
Greetin’ aboon Beck Meetings Wood,
An’ call o’ snipe, by gow! I should:
But all my ewes are doin’ well,
Tho’, if late snows coom, who can tell!
Ther’s two black lambs ‘at’s ailin’ still”. . . . .
* * * * * * * * *
To-day he’s laid at Dallowgill
(Of all t’ moors he luved Dallow best,
An’ thowt it a douce place to rest).
He niver cared much for low lands.
Ay! I believe thoo understands,
For if thoo’s bred alangside heath
Thoo allus luves it. … Aboot Death
Dost think around t’ breet courts above
Ther’s some intake? An’ dost think, luve,
Ther is a moorland, beyant fields
O’ ruby walls an’ sapphire bields
An’ gowden flowers an’ emerald ways,
Wheer a lile tummelling river plays!
An’ happen an owd hawthorn tree
For folks like Dick an’ thoo an’ me!
(Dorothy Una Ratcliffe)
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Based on Topics: Spring PoemsBased on Keywords: cooms, snipe, intake, reet, blaws, douce, breet, lapwing, aboot, varra, lile
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