The Mockers and other Verses By Jane Barlow |
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 | The Mockers and other Verses |  |
I
Quare and black and white it looks along by the strand this day,Wid the snow lit like foam on the foam, and the sky's dark as dark on the say—
There's a little white gull sittin' out on it, swimmin' and swimmin' away—
And the weeds all tossed up on the edge of the wet like a layer of fire-scorched hay,
Turf-black through the froth and the flakes. Faith, 'tis heaped up a won'erful height;
You could tell by the same that the beach got a great ould lambastin' last night
Wid the win' and the waves. Look ye yonder they've tumbled a cartload of stones
From the ind of the Callaghans' bit of a boat-slip, that nobody owns.
2
She'd that hole in her ribs for this long while. That's only the nathur of luck:
If it's good for a thraneen she was, she'd be sunk the first blusther that blew,
But the storms let the likes of her rest, till there's no better harm they can do.
| The Mockers and other Verses | |