A year or two moor
an' another seemed longin to goa,
An' all we could do wor to smooth his deeath bed,
'at he might sleep sweeter--
Then th' third seemed to sicken an' pine,
an' we couldn't say "noa,"
For he said his sister had called,
an' he wor most anxious to meet her--
An' how we watched th' youngest,
noa mortal can tell but misen,
For we prized it moor,
becoss it wor th' only one left us to cherish;
At last her call came,
an' shoo luked sich a luk at us then,
Which aw ne'er shall forget,
tho mi mem'ry ov all other things perish.
A few years moor,
when awr griefs wor beginnin to lighten,
Mi friends began askin my wife,
if shoo felt hersen hearty an' strong?
An' aw niver saw at her face
wor beginning to whiten,
Till sho grew like a shadow,
an' aw couldn't even guess wrong.
Then aw stood beside th' grave
when th' saxton wor shovin in th' gravel,
An' he said "this last maks five,
an' aw think ther's just room for another,"
An' aw went an' left him,
lonely an' heartsick to travel,
Till th' time comes when aw may lig daan
beside them four bairns an' ther mother.
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