Aw Can't Tell.

A poem by John Hartley

Aw nivver rammel mich abaat,
Aw've summat else to do;
But yet aw think, withaat a daat,
Aw've seen a thing or two.

One needn't leeav his native shoor,
An visit foreign lands, -
At hooam he'll find a gooid deeal moor
Nor what he understands.

Aw can't tell why a empty heead
Should be held up soa heigh,
Or why a suit o' clooas should leead
Soa monny fowk astray.

Aw can't tell why a child 'at's born
To lord or lady that,
Should be soa worship'd, wol they scorn
A poor man's little brat.

Aw can't tell why a workin man
Should wear his life away,
Wol maisters grasp at all they can,
An grudge a chap his pay.

Aw can't tell why a lot o' things
Are as they seem to be;
But if its nowt to nubdy else,
Ov coorse its nowt to me.

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