Aw’ve turned mi bit o’ garden o’er,
An’ set mi seed an’ o;
Soa neaw aw’ve done, aw’ll rest a bit,
An’ sit an’ watch it grow.
It’s noice to have a little spot,
Wheer one can ceawer ’em down,
A quiet comfortable place,
Eawtside o’ th’ busy teawn,
Wheer one can sit an’ smoke the’r poipe,
An’ have a friendly chat,
Or read th’ newspapper o’er a bit,
Or talk abeawt Shurat;
Or listen to some owd mon’s tale,
Some vet’ran come fro’ th’ wars;
Aw loike to yer ’em spin the’r yarn,
An’ show the’r wounds an’ scars.
One neet aw thowt aw’d tak’ a walk
As far as th’ Hunter’s Teawer,
To beg a daisy root or two:
Tom’s gan me mony afleawer.
They’re bloomin’ i’ mi garden neaw,
Aw’ve sich a bonny show;
Aw’ve daisies, pinks, carnations, too,
An’ pollyants an’ o.
Yo’ couldn’t think heaw preawd aw feel,
O’ every plant an’ fleawer;
Aw couldn’t ha’ cared for childer moor,
Aw’ve nursed’em mony a heawer.
But tho’ they neaw look fresh an’ fair,
They’ll droop the’r yeads an’ dee;
They hanno lung to tarry here,
They’re just loike yo’ an’ me.
Dark-lookin’ cleawds are gatherin’ reawnd,
Aw think it’s beawn to rain;
Ther’s nowt could pleos me better neaw,
Aw should be rare and fain!
Mi bit o’ seed wants deggin’ o’er,
To help to mak’ it spreawt;
It’s summat loike a choild’s first teeth,
’At wanten helpin’ eawt.
But aw’ll be off, afore aw’m wet,
It’s getten reet agate;
An’ while it comes aw think aw’ll get
A bit o’ summat t’ ate;
For, oh, it is a hungry job,
This workin’ eawt o’ th’ door;
Th’ committee should alleaw for this,
An’ give one rayther moor.
Aw should so loike a good blow eawt,
A feed off beefsteak pie;
But aw can ne’er get nowt loike that
Wi’ th’ bit aw draw, not I!
Aw’m glad enough o’ porritch neaw,
Or tothrey cold potates;
Iv aw can get enoo o’ these,
Aw’st do till th’ factory gates.
It’s welly gan o’er rainin’, so
Aw’ll have another look,
An’ see heaw th’ gardens’s gettin on;
An’ then aw’ll get a book,
An’ read an heawer or two for th’ woife,
An’ sing a bit for Ted;
Then poo mi clogs off, fasten th’ doors,
An’ walk upsteers to bed.