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Poetry Pleases: Bye Jehovah

Sandra Mills’s Yorkshire dialect poem tells of a a door mat bearing an imperative message for the High and the Migbhty.

Mi dowter came fra t’market tuther day
Wit novelty mat fer mi dooarstun
Stead o’ sayin’, “Welcome”, t’read, “Go Away”
T’were jus reet, sed she ana bit o’fun
Fer t’lahkes o’me - a mardy owd man
Which, ’ccordin’ ter ’er, Ah now am.

Terday Ah wer boon on t’thack
A tile were loose, t’weren’t sittin’ proper
Ah were cahd ower, putting it back
When t’were a rappin’ on t’dooar knocker –
Persistent lahke, as if t’were an emergency
Soo Ah thawt Ah’d best go dahn an see.

Ah whacked mi gammy leg on t’stower
Ah dassent cum dahn te fast
Ah cud feel mi face begin ter glower
Then Ah slipped on t’flags. Oh blast!
Ah were stalled, mi hig began ter rise -
E were stood on t’mat as Ah came rahnd t’sahd.

E wor a black suit, a tad shoddy
Lahke an undertaker on t’dole
But e’d nut cum fer mi body
E were thar ter wekken mi soul
An fer this truly lost cause
E’d moithered me fra mi chores.

Well, t’was then Ah blewa gaskit
Ah threaped ’im dahn a’reet
Mun you, ’e were jus askin fer it
Th’instrukshuns wor unner ’is feet
Ah beldered aht, fer o’ mi mat ’ed paid nooa heed
“Fer cryin’ in t’bookit, lad, kan yur nut read!”

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