When Lost.

A poem by John Hartley

If at hooam yo have to tew,
Though yor comforts may be few,
An yo think yore lot is hard, and yor prospects bad;
Yo may swear ther's nowt gooas reight,
Wi' yor friends an wi' yor meyt,
But yo'll nivver know ther vally till j'o've lost em, lad.

Though yo've but a humble cot,
An yore share's a seedy lot;
Though yo goa to bed i'th dumps, an get up i'th mornin mad,
Yet yo'll find its mich moor wise,
What yo have to fondly prize,
For yo'll nivver know ther vally till yo've lost em, lad.

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