You wouldn't take me, 'bout a year ago,
Free gratis wiv a shillin' pound o' tea;
Then, in a blessed 'eap, ole Forchin lands
A missus an' a farm fair in me 'ands.



XIII. The Kid


My son!...Them words, jist like a blessed song,
Is singin' in me 'eart the 'ole day long;
Over an' over; while I'm scared I'll wake
Out of a dream, to find it all a fake.

My son! Two little words, that, yesterdee,
Wus jist two simple, senseless words to me;
An' now--no man, not since the world begun,
Made any better pray'r than that....My son!

My son an' bloomin' 'eir...Ours!...'Ers an' mine!
The finest kid in--Aw, the sun don't shine--
Ther' ain't no joy fer me beneath the blue
Unless I'm gazin' lovin' at them two.

A little while ago it was jist "me"--
A lonely, longin' streak o' misery.
An' then 'twas "'er an' me"--Doreen, my wife!
An' now it's "'im an' us" an'--sich is life.