Autumn Gold In Somerset Dialect

Dozy with Cider The tavern was quiet but for old farmer John, when the Kings rider strode in demanding a bed, He ordered his ale and sat next to the old sage, “Where be all the villagers?” he said. Farmer John took a sip from his tankard and smiled, “What brings you to our village, good sire?” The rider frowned, then with his head tucked down, His eyebrows rose higher and higher! “This village gives birth to babes every year They, being born all on the same day! And ‘tis known all about, folk here are healthy and strong And everyone happy and gay!” The old man grinned, wily, “Aye sire, ‘tis true. Now, you fill my tankard to its peak, Many a slip, twixt cup and lip an’ i will give you the answers you seek.” “On this day sire, when the season’s mists do rise to the warmth of the September sun, The young lads an’ lasses stand ready, in Jackson’s field, their race of the day has begun. They run to the orchard, climbing ladders high, pickin’ apples to throw in to their sack. Their young knees bending with the weight of the fruit hanging, from their back. When they’ve finished their task and the cart is full, the sun is low in the sky, An’ the Taverner welcomes ‘em with bread an’ cheese, an’ their spirits are soaring high! An’ they drink the fruits of their labour with glee, then hand in hand, sleep they, in the hedgerows you see! Every babe born the following year, is born a healthy, happy mite, For under those hedgerows, were created love, an’ a natural joy, A Royal beginning, for girl an’ boy! An’ the heart of this ritual, if the truth be told, Is the liquid you drink now sire, our Autumn Gold!"