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Title: Shoo's Deead An' Goan
Author: Bill o'th' Hoylus End [
More Titles by Bill o'th' Hoylus End]
My poor owd lass, an art ta goan,
To thy long rest?
An' mun the cruel cold grave-stone
Close ower thy breast?
An' art ta goan no more to see,
Exceptin' i' fond memory?
Yes, empty echo answers me--
"Shoe's deead an' goan!"
I' vain the wafters o' the breeze
Fan my hot brah,
I' vain the birds upon the trees,
Sing sweetly nah;
I' vain the early rose-bud blaws,
I' vain wide Nature shows her cause,
Deeath thunders fro his greedy jaws--
"Shoe's deead an' goan!"
There's more ner me 'at's sad bereft,
I pity wun,
An' that's my lad--he's sadly left--
My little John;
He wander's up an' dahn all t'day,
An' rarely hez a word to say,
Save murmuring (an' weel he may),
"Shoo's deead an goan!"
Bud, Johnny lad, let's dry wer tears;
At t'least we'll try;
Thy mother's safe wi' Him 'at hears
T'poor orphan's sigh;
Fer 'tis the lot o' t'human mack--
An' who can tell which next he'll tack?
An' crying cannot bring her back;
"Shoe's deead an' goan!"
[The end]
Bill o'th' Hoylus End's poem: Shoo's Deead An' Goan
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