Step thou nigh,
An' gloor at t' minnows dartin' in an' out.
Our beck flows straight frae slacks o' moorland peat,
An' gethers sweetness out o' t' ling an' gorse;
At first its voice sounds weantly(1) saft an' leet,
But graws i' strength wi' lowpin ower yon force.
Then thou sud see the birds alang its banks--
Grey heronsews, that coom to fish at dawn;
Dippers, that under t' watter play sike pranks,
An' lang-nebbed curlews, swaimish(2) as a fawn.
Soomtimes I've seen young otters leave their holes,
An' laik like kitlins ower the silver dew;
An' I've watched squirrels climmin' up the boles
O' beech trees, lowpin' leet frae beugh to beugh.
Fowers! Why, thou'd fill thy skep,(3) lass, in an hour,
Wi' gowlands, paigles, blobs,(4) an' sike-like things;
We've daffydills to deck a bridal bower,
Pansies, wheer lady-cows(5) can dry their wings.
Young childer often bathe, when t'weather's fine,
Up yonder, wheer t' owd miller's bigged his weir;
I like to see their lish,(6) nakt bodies shine,
An' watch 'em dive i' t' watter widoot fear.
Ay, yon's our brig, bent like an archer's bow,
It's t' meetin' place o' folk frae near an' far;
Young 'uns coom theer wi' lasses laughin' low,
Owd 'uns to talk o' politics an' t' war.
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