Crookd pads

Labour sought a sheltering place

Neath some thick wood woven bower

While odd rain drops dampt his face

Heralds of the coming shower

Where the oak plank crosst the stream

Which the early rising lass

Climbs each morn wi gathering cream

Crookd pads tracking thro the grass

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Autumn drop

The leaves of Autumn drop by two's and three's

& the black cloud hung o'er the old low church
Is fixed as is a rock that never stirs
But look again & you may well perceive
The weather cock is in another sky
& the cloud passing leaves the blue behind
Crimson & yellow bloch'd with Iron Brown

The Autumn tans & varigates the leaves
The nuts are ripe in woods about the Town
Russet the cleared fields where the bindweed weaves

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Syren

Syren of sullen moods & fading hues
Yet haply not incapable of joy
Sweet Autumn! I thee hail
With welcome all unfeigned

& oft as morning from her lattice peeps
To beckon up the sun I seek with thee
To drink the dewy breath
Of fields left fragrant then

In solitudes where no frequented paths
But what thy own foot makes betray thy home
Stealing obtrusive there
To meditate thy end

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For want ‘o drink

Being rather faint for want o' drink
(Yet not so sadly off for chink)
I went to ha' some beer

On entering in a house at hand
(As alehouses do mostly stand
To catch all passers by)

I told my wants & sat me down
'Gen two near neighbours o' the town
A talking very sly

At which so eager o' my beer
I first ga' little heed to hear
Untill I 'gan to see

Some queerish beckons come in vogue
& hear the name o' thief & rogue
& then a look at me

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The hues of the west

The summer is waining
The autumn is staining
The hedges & woods with the hues of the west
So come in the dell
To bid it farewell
For sweets at their parting are often the best

The summer gets duller
The trees are in colour
Yet sweeter than summer was walking with thee
Thy face of rose charmed me
And ne'er could I harm thee
From the day we first sheltered beneath the oak tree

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Prowling fox

Houswives discoursing bout their hens & cocks

Spin[n]ing long stories wearing half the day

Sad deeds bewailing of the prowling fox

How in the roost the thief had knawd his way

& made their market profits all a prey

& other losses too the dames recite

Of chick & duck & gosling gone astray

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Image by my friend #CarryAkroyd

Thou art towering

Huge elm with rifted trunk all notched & scarred 

Like to a warrior's destiny I love

To stretch me often on thy shadowed sward

Or on thy buttressed roots to sit & lean

In  careless attitude & there reflect

On  times & deeds & darings that have been

Old castaways now swallowed in neglect

While thou art towering in thy strength of heart

Stirring the soul to vain imaginings

In which lifes sordid being hath no part

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