Ah! Jeäne, my maïd, I stood to you,
When you wer christen’d, small an’ light,
Wi’ tiny eärms o’ red an’ blue,
A-hangèn in your robe o’ white.
We brought ye to the hallow’d stwone,
Vor Christ to teäke ye vor his own,
When harvest work wer all a-done,
An’ time brought round October zun–
The slantèn light o’ Fall.
An’ I can mind the wind wer rough,
An’ gather’d clouds, but brought noo storms,
An’ you did nessle warm enough,
‘Ithin your smilèn mother’s eärms.
The whindlèn grass did quiver light,
Among the stubble, feäded white,
An’ if at times the zunlight broke
Upon the ground, or on the vo’k,
‘Twer slantèn light o’ Fall.
An’ when we brought ye drough the door
O’ Knapton Church, a child o’ greäce,
There cluster’d round a’most a score
O’ vo’k to zee your tiny feäce.
An’ there we all did veel so proud,
To zee an’ op’nèn in the cloud,
An’ then a stream o’ light break drough,
A-sheenèn brightly down on you–
The slantèn light o’ Fall.
But now your time’s a-come to stand
In church, a-blushèn at my zide,
The while a bridegroom vrom my hand
Ha’ took ye vor his faïthvul bride.
Your christèn neäme we gi’d ye here,
When Fall did cool the weästèn year;
An’ now, ageän, we brought ye drough
The doorway, wi’ your surneäme new,
In slantèn light o’ Fall.
An’ zoo vur, Jeäne, your life is feäir,
An’ God ha’ been your steadvast friend,
An’ mid ye have mwore jaÿ than ceäre,
Vor ever, till your journey’s end.
An’ I’ve a-watch’d ye on wi’ pride,
But now I soon mus’ leäve your zide,
Vor you ha’ still life’s spring-tide zun,
But my life, Jeäne, is now a-run
To slantèn light o’ Fall.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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