Hawkers

Dust, dust, dust and a dog –
Oh! The sheep-dog won’t be last.
When the long, long, shadow of the old bay horse
With the shadow of his mate is cast.
A brick-brown woman with the brick-brown kids,
And a man with his head half-mast,
The feed-bags hung and the bedding slung,
And the blackened bucket made fast
Where the tailboard clings to the tucker and things –
So the hawker’s van goes past.