The Poetry Corner

Dad's Lad.

By John Hartley

Little patt'rin, clatt'rin feet, Runnin raand throo morn to neet; Banishin mi mornin's nap, - Little bonny, noisy chap, - But aw can't find fault yo see, - For he's Dad's lad an he loves me. He loves his mother withaat daat, Tho' shoo gies him monny a claat; An he says, "Aw'll tell mi Dad," Which ov coorse maks mother mad; Then he snoozles on her knee, For shoo loves him 'coss shoo loves me. He's a bother aw'll admit, But he'll alter in a bit; An when older grown, maybe, He'll a comfort prove to me, An mi latter days mak glad, For aw know he's Daddy's lad. If he's aght o' sect a minnit, Ther's some mischief, an he's in it, When he's done it then he'll flee; An for shelter comes to me. What can aw do but shield my lad? For he's my pet an aw'm his Dad. After a day's hard toil an care, Sittin in mi rockin chair; Nowt mi wearied spirit charms, Like him nestlin i' mi arms, An noa music is as sweet, As his patt'rin, clatt'rin feet.