Oben Vields

Well, you mid keep the town an' street,
  Wi' grassless stwones to beät your veet,
  An' zunless windows where your brows
  Be never cooled by swaÿèn boughs;
  An' let me end, as I begun,
  My days in oben aïr an' zun,
  Where zummer win's a-blowèn sweet,
  Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet;
  Or swaÿèn boughs, a-bendèn low
  Wi' rip'nèn apples in a row,
  An' we a-risèn rathe do meet
  The bright'nèn dawn wi' dewy veet,
  An' leäve, at night, the vootless groves,
  To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves.
  An' here our childern still do bruise
  The deäisy buds wi' tiny shoes,
  As we did meet avore em, free
  Vrom ceäre, in play below the tree.
  An' there in me'th their lively eyes
  Do glissen to the zunny skies,
  As aïr do blow, wi' leäzy peäce
  To cool, in sheäde, their burnèn feäce.
  Where leaves o' spreadèn docks do hide
  The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide,
  An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs,
  Among the deäisy's crimson rims.
  An' they, so proud, wi' eärms a-spread
  To keep their balance good, do tread
  Wi' ceäreful steps o' tiny zoles
  The narrow zides o' trees an' poles.
  An' zoo I'll leäve vor your light veet
  The peävement o' the zunless street,
  While I do end, as I begun,
  My days in oben aïr an' zun.