WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLÈN HIS MIS’ESS
OUT IN THE CORN GROUND.
Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while
The zun, long years agoo, did shed
His het upon the wheat in hile,
Wi’ yollow hau’m an’ ears o’ red,
Wi’ little shoes too thin vor walks
Upon the scratchèn stubble-stalks;
You hardly reach’d wi’ glossy head,
The vore wheel’s top o’ dousty red.
How time’s a-vled! How years do vlee!
An’ there you went an’ zot inzide
A hile, in aïr a-streamèn cool,
As if ’ithin a room, vull wide
An’ high, you zot to guide an’ rule.
You leäz’d about the stubbly land.
An’ soon vill’d up your small left hand
Wi’ ruddy ears your right hand vound,
An’ traïl’d the stalks along the ground.
How time’s a-gone! How years do goo!
Then in the waggon you did teäke
A ride, an’ as the wheels vell down
Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheäke
On your small head your poppy crown,
An’ now your little maïd, a dear,
Your childhood’s very daps, is here,
Zoo let her staÿ, that her young feäce
Mid put a former year in pleäce.
How time do run! How years do roll
