Classic Poem

Oh! if vrom childern still a-led
By hand a father's hand's a-gone,
Or if a vew-year'd mother, dead,
Ha' left em still a-growen on;
When dead vo'ks childern, now a-staid,
Ageän ha' childern, boy an' maid;
Can their souls know as years do roll
Their childern's childern, soul by soul?
If this wi' souls a-vled can be,
Do my vore-elders know o' me?

Poor father's elders, man an' wife,
A-call'd vull eärly to the tomb,
Left childern still in childhood life
To plaÿè wi' buttervlee or bloom.
But did they know how time did mwold
Their feäces on vrom young to wold,
As years did bring em, turn by turn,
A time to laugh or time to murn?
If this wi' souls a-vled could be,
Do my vore-elders know o' me?

How fain I now would walk the vloor
Within their mossy pworches bow,
Or linger by their churches door,
Or road that bore em to an' fro,
Or nook where they did build their mow,
Or geäteway open to their plough:
Though now, 'tis true, noo geäte's a-swung
That their live hands had then a-hung,
If I did know that they could zee
Their child's leäte child, an' know o' me!