Sixty an Sixteen.

A poem by John Hartley

We're older nor we used to be,
But that's noa reason why
We owt to mope i' misery,
An whine an grooan an sigh.

We've had awr shares o' ups an daans,
I' this world's whirligig;
An for its favors or its fraans
We needn't care a fig.

Let them, at's enterin on life
Be worried wi' its cares;
We've tasted booath its joys an strife,
They're welcome nah to theirs.

To tak things easy owt to be
An old man's futer plan,
Till th' time comes when he has to dee, -
Then dee as weel's he can.

It's foolish nah to brood an freeat,
Abaat what might ha been;
At sixty we dooant see wi' th' een,
We saw wi at sixteen.

Young shoolders worn't meant to bear
Old heeads, an nivver will;
Youth had its fling when we wor thear,
An soa it will have still.

Aw wodn't live life o'er agean,
Unless 'at aw could start
Quite free throo knowledge o' this world,
Quite free in heead an heart.

That perfect trust 'at childer have,
Gives life its greatest charm;
Noa wisdom after years can give,
Will keep ther hearts as warm.

When nearin th' bottom o' life's hill,
If we, when lukkin back,
Can see some seeds ov gooid we've sown,
Are bloomin on awr track;

Wol th' evil deeds we did shall be
All trampled aght o' seet;
Awr journey's end will peaceful be,
An deeath itsen be sweet.

Then let's give thanks for mercies past,
That've kept awr hearts still green;
For thar't just as dear at sixty, lass,
As when tha wor sixteen.