Mi Old Slippers.

A poem by John Hartley

Aw'm wearily trudgin throo mire an weet,
For aw've finished another day's wark;
An welcome to me is that flickerin leet,
'At shines throo mi winder i'th' dark.
Aw know ther's mi drinkin just ready o'th' hob,
An a hearthstun as cleean as can be,
For that old wife o' mine allus maks it her job,
To have ivverything gradely for me.

It isn't mich time aw can spend wi' th' old lass,
For aw'm tewin throo early till lat,
An its all aw can do just to get as mich brass
As we need, an sometimes hardly that.
But we keep aght o' debt, soa mi heart's allus leet,
An aw sweeten mi wark wi' a song;
An we try to mak th' best ov what trubbles we meet,
An contentedly struggle along.

Two trusty old friends anent th' foir are set,
They are waitin thear ivvery neet;
They're nobbut a pair o' old slippers, but yet,
They give comfort an rest to mi feet.
Like misen an mi wife, they're fast wearin away, -
They've been shabby for monny a year;
They have been a hansum pair once, aw can say,
Yet to me they wor nivver mooar dear.

Aw hooap they may last wol aw'm summon'd away,
An this life's journey peacefully ends;
For to part wod feel hard, for at this time o'th' day,
It's too lat to be makkin new friends.
Aw know varry weel 'at ther end must be near,
For aw see ha they're worn daan at th' heel;
But they've sarved me reight weel, an aw'st ha nowt to fear,
If aw've sarved His purpose as weel

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