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Beasley and I

Lem Griffiths

July, 2016


Henrietta D. something,
Never did mind him on top 'her,
'Least she never said, t'other, anyhow .
Beasley's my friend.., 
Comes and goes his own ways - and whenever -
Rises and rests with the plough.

A few careless folk I seen point his way .., 
But he never did mind either owt,
God's creatures all shine , but some deep down,
Apt that his ears are as Toby's for stout.

Guards his grog , more precious say he, than rubies,
As we meander up and through the town., 
Then amid wispy 'Emmerdale' mists, 
Look there., yonder...
'Same as yesterday'., think I, 
Cemetery bound.

Ma 'Da's' Mate, Beasley,
Oh he's travelled -
Seen Islands unravel,
And oceans of cold nature in men,
His face, just a mask -
From the depth-charges blast,
Aglow recounting tales of back then.

And no sooner., his through gate in church wall,
On God's own good consecrated stone,
Gets comfy, all laid out and sprawled
With a rucksack of grog and he's home.

The faded inscription beneath his shrunk shank,
Reads of 'Loving Memories and wondrous full life',
For 'Here Lies Henrietta D. something',
'His great love', he winks, 
But no, never his wife.
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