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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
I've heard of people born in a mine,
Poor divils! aw, just as good as blind—
At laste they got no eyes to spake of,
Just a little bit of a strake of
Light, like a groove, like a seam, like a slit,
Livin' and dyin' in the pit—
That's England—that's these “lower urdhers” —
A despard country, full of murders—
But coals, of coorse, most horrid dirty,
And iron very near as clarty.
Poor divils! aw, just as good as blind—
At laste they got no eyes to spake of,
Just a little bit of a strake of
Light, like a groove, like a seam, like a slit,
Livin' and dyin' in the pit—
That's England—that's these “lower urdhers” —
A despard country, full of murders—
But coals, of coorse, most horrid dirty,
And iron very near as clarty.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |