In church at Grenley woone mid zee
A beam vrom wall to wall; a tree
That’s longer than the church is wide,
An’ zoo woone end o’n’s drough outside,–
Not cut off short, but bound all round
Wi’ lead, to keep en seäfe an’ sound.
Back when the builders vu’st begun
The church,–as still the teäle do run,–
A man work’d wi’ em; no man knew
Who ‘twer, nor whither he did goo.
He wer as harmless as a chile,
An’ work’d ‘ithout a frown or smile,
Till any woaths or strife did rise
To overcast his sparklèn eyes:
An’ then he’d call their minds vrom strife,
To think upon another life.
He wer so strong, that all alwone
He lifted beams an’ blocks o’ stwone,
That others, with the girtest païns,
Could hardly wag wi’ bars an’ chaïns;
An’ yet he never used to staÿ
O’ Zaturdays, to teäke his paÿ.
Woone day the men wer out o’ heart,
To have a beam a-cut too short;
An’ in the evenèn, when they shut
Off work, they left en where ‘twer put;
An’ while dumb night went softly by
Towárds the vi’ry western sky,
A-lullèn birds, an’ shuttèn up
The deäisy an’ the butter cup,
They went to lay their heavy heads
An’ weary bwones upon their beds.
An’ when the dewy mornèn broke,
An’ show’d the worold, fresh awoke,
Their godly work ageän, they vound
The beam they left upon the ground
A-put in pleäce, where still do bide,
An’ long enough to reach outzide.
But he unknown to tother men
Wer never there at work ageän:
Zoo whether he mid be a man
Or angel, wi’ a helpèn han’,
Or whether all o’t wer a dream,
They didden deäre to cut the beam.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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