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 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
So that was all right; and Harry and Jack
Had no more trouble with the lek.
But every one their own troughs—
That was the coortin' of these boughs —
Boughs, ye know—yis, that was the name—
Pushin' each other—a rum surt o' game
To plase a gel; and laughin' that rough—
A passil o' donkeys, sure enough!
Had no more trouble with the lek.
But every one their own troughs—
That was the coortin' of these boughs —
Boughs, ye know—yis, that was the name—
Pushin' each other—a rum surt o' game
To plase a gel; and laughin' that rough—
A passil o' donkeys, sure enough!
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |