The youtube link is
A LABOUR OF LOVE
What intimacy is its
cause,perhaps
an immaculate
conception of words;
too swift to
comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment
is there
and then is not.Gone
with the wind
the seed of idea
remains, to
germinate and
gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of
elation.Slowly
self-transcending a
word into a phrase,
a sentence to a
strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of
cadence,
into a chasm of
verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet
becomes a little song,
struggles to
arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a
bastard-born of pain
BUCKINGHAMSHIRE BOY
Aye 'ee is fierce and hale.
Four mile to work,across the vale;
No slommakin' slattern 'ee,
Okkard as an itching flea.
Eee'd fetch hosses to boss's yard,
Garmed with mud,as thick as lard,
Cla'holt of 'em wiv a rope,
On is own,allus could cope.
Niver sees 'im vexed,or aggled,
Even if drenched and bedraggled;
In lightning 'e wore niver frit,
Though the whole sky wore fork-lit.
Grew peas that kidded well,
Allus 'ad a tale to tell.
