 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
Aye, Cain—so the uncle come to die—
Him she was gettin' the proppity by—
And rather an awkward way he was givin' it—
And so they got married, and come to live in it.
And so you'd think they'd be goin' jog-jog—
Aw, bless ye! they turned a new leaf in the log
That day, they did; a leaf that was scored
With blood and misery, every word—
Death sealed it up at last, and tuk it
To owners, that has never bruk it,
And never will till God will sit
Upon His judgment throne—that's it.
Him she was gettin' the proppity by—
And rather an awkward way he was givin' it—
And so they got married, and come to live in it.
And so you'd think they'd be goin' jog-jog—
Aw, bless ye! they turned a new leaf in the log
That day, they did; a leaf that was scored
With blood and misery, every word—
Death sealed it up at last, and tuk it
To owners, that has never bruk it,
And never will till God will sit
Upon His judgment throne—that's it.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |