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Feather's Miscellany: A Sodden Cap

John Waddington-Feather presents a grand Yorkshire poem.

Old Sam and John had been pals all their life
Ever since they were at school;
They’d supped every night in their favourite pub
Where they played every Friday at pool.

They enjoyed most of all their Saturday trip
Watching Keighworth play rugby in t’ rain,
For the sun rarely shone on that dour Yorkshire town,
Where they never missed one gritty game.

They stood side by side in their usual place,
When the rain begun to sile down;
Sam pulled his cap lower and buttoned his coat,
But John just uncovered his crown

And stuffed his new cap deep inside his top-coat
And let the rain drip down his face;
Said Sam quite amazed:” What’s tha laikin’ at, lad?”
But was soon put right in his place.

John turned with his face all awash in the wet
And replied through the rain loud and strong:
“If tha thinks Ah’ll be sittin’ all neet bi mi fire
Wi’ mi cap drippin’ wet – then tha’rt wrong!”

John Waddington-Feather ©

Sile = pour
Laiking = playing
Neet = night


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