By the brow o' thik hangen I spent all my youth,
In the house that did peep out between
The dree woaks, that in winter avworded their lewth,
An' in zummer their sheaede to the green;
An' there, as in zummer we play'd at our geaemes,
We [=e]ach own'd a tree,
Vor we wer but dree,
An' zoo the dree woaks wer a-call'd by our neaemes.
An' two did grow scraggy out over the road,
An' they wer call'd Jimmy's an' mine;
An' tother wer Jeaennet's, much kindlier grow'd,
Wi' a knotless an' white ribbed rine.
An' there, o' fine nights avore gwaein in to rest,
We did dance, vull o' life,
To the sound o' the fife,
Or play at some geaeme that poor Jeaennet lik'd best.
Zoo happy wer we by the woaks o' the green,
Till we lost sister Jeaennet, our pride;
Vor when she wer come to her last blushen teen,
She suddenly zicken'd an' died.
An' avore the green leaves in the fall wer gone by,
The lightnen struck dead
Her woaken tree's head,
An' left en a-stripp'd to the wintery sky.
But woone ov his eaecorns, a-zet in the Fall,
Come up the Spring after, below
The trees at her head-stwone 'ithin the church-wall,
An' mother, to see how did grow,
Shed a tear; an' when father an' she wer bwoth dead,
There they wer laid deep,
Wi' their Jeaennet, to sleep,
Wi' her at his zide, an' her tree at her head.
An' vo'k do still call the wold house the dree woaks,
Vor thik is a-reckon'd that's down,
As mother, a-neaemen her childern to vo'ks,
Meaede dree when but two wer a-voun';
An' zaid that hereafter she knew she should zee
Why God, that's above,
Vound fit in his love
To strike wi' his han' the poor maid an' her tree.