Fred Reed - from the Tyneside Poets' Archive

Me


Me, Aa’ll nivvor be poor
Till emptied of me dreams…
Ne thowts vibrate wi’ winged words
T’ seek warm climes like valiant bords
‘ned trill theor joyous themes.

When hairt he lost desire…
Its ricochettin leaps…
Like weathered discus styns t’ take
And mek them skip across the lake,
Me youths fresh vorve t’ keep.

Aa’ll not knaa cynic taint,
Me spirit’s flights still high,
If Aa can scan the firmament,
Ower creation feel intent
T’ cry, Aa wundor why.”

Me, Aa’ll elwis be rich,
Stray in a gowlden clime,
If Aa can tarry ‘neath the spell
Of aall adventures still t’ tell
Wi’ “Once upon a time.”

And aad Aa’ll nivvor be
Still yeornin for the Springs,
High hopes wed t’ me memories
Till Beauty’s kiss the boond orth frees
And youth’s renewal brings.

Aye, in cremation’s fire
Hap silence high on me;
Scattor me ashes, say Aa’m gyen,
But Aa’ll be heor t’ whisper when
These words are read by ye.

Fred Reed