The Poetry Corner

Their Fred.

By John Hartley

"He's a nowt! If ther's owt At a child shouldn't do, He mun try, Or know why, Befoor th' day's getten throo. An his dad, Ov his lad Taks noa nooatice at all, Aw declare It's net fair For Job's patience he'd stall. Awm his mam, - That aw am, But awm ommost worn aght, A gooid lick Wi a stick, He just cares nowt abaght. Thear he goes, Wi a nooas Like a chaneller's shop! Aw may call, Or may bawl, But th' young imp willn't stop. Thear's a cat, He spies that, Nah he's having a race! - That's his way Ivvery day If a cat's abaght th' place. But if aw Wor near by, Awd just fotch him a seawse! Come thee here! Does ta hear? Come thi ways into th' haase! Who's that flat? What's he at? If he touches awr Fred, If aw live Aw'll goa rive Ivvery hair off his head! What's th' lad done? It's his fun! Tried to kill yor old cat? Well suppooas At he does! Bless mi life! What bi that? He's mi own, Flesh an' booan, An aw'll net have him lickt; If he's wild, He's a child, Pray what can yo expect! Did um doy! Little joy! Let's ha nooan o' them skrikes Nowty man! Why he can Kill a cat if he likes. Hush a bee, hush a bye, Little Freddy munnot cry."