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Poem	Green mwold on zummer bars do show That they've a-dripped in winter wet; The hoof-worn ring o' groun' below The tree do tell o' storms or het; The trees in rank along a ledge Do show where woonce did bloom a hedge; An' where the vurrow-marks do stripe The down the wheat woonce rustled ripe. Each mark ov things a-gone vrom view— To eyezight's woone, to soulzight two. The grass agean the mwoldren door 'S a token sad o' vo'k a-gone, An' where the house, bwoth wall an' vloor, 'S a-lost, the well mid linger on. What tokens, then, could Meary gi'e That she a-lived, an' lived vor me, But things a-done vor thought an' view? Good things that nwone agean can do, An' every work her love ha' wrought, To eyezight's woone, but two to thought.
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