|
It's got me beat. Doreen's late Par, some way,
Was second cousin to 'is bruvver's wife.
Somethin' like that. In less than 'arf a day
It seemed 'e'd been my uncle orl me life.
'E takes me 'and: "I dunno 'ow it is."
'E sez, "but, lad, I likes that ugly phiz."
An' when 'e'd stayed wiv us a little while
The 'ouse begun to look like 'ome once more.
Doreen she brightens up beneath 'is smile,
An' 'ugs 'im till I kids I'm gettin' sore.
Then, late one night, 'e opens up 'is scheme,
An' passes me wot looks like some fond dream.
'E 'as a little fruit-farm, doin' well;
'E's saved a tidy bit to see 'im thro';
'E's gittin' old fer toil, an' wants a spell;
An' 'ere's a 'ome jist waitin' fer us two.
"It's 'er's an' yours fer keeps when I am gone,"
Sez Uncle Jim. "Lad, will yeh take it on?"
So that's the strength of it. An' 'ere's me now
A flamin' berry farmer, full o' toil;
Playin' joo-jitsoo wiv an 'orse an' plough,
An' coaxin' fancy tucker frum the soil;
An' longin', while I wrestles with the rake,
Fer days when my poor back fergits to ache.
|
