Mitherings

With a roof over your head, A key to your door Fire in the grate Clippie rugs on the floor The countryside to roam A dog by his side A boy may be poor but He’s still got h!is pride. Another spring approaches Weather more and more mild Memories rush back from When I was a child More than fifty years ago My dad used to say Nights were drawing out by A cock stride a day. A man of the land once of The shire drawn plough Earning his weekly pittance By the sweat of his brow. A man of his time when Most of the working nation Were condemned to poverty And blatant exploitation My mam and dad never Ever had a lot But seemed so happy With what little they’d got And I had a childhood rich In everything but wealth Loved and wanted and Blessed with good health. Times have changed and today, Poor materially have much more, But the bailiff does at times seem Never far from a worker’s door, And I never thought I’d see the day When a worker gave thanks For the charity donations From now essential food banks. Mithering - North England dialect - worrying , complaining, countering