What Could Aw Say? Poem by William Baron

Aw'd just stopped to rest me, a bit past th' owd farm;
For t' basket wur heavy, an' t' weather wur warm.
Aw wur listenin' to t' woodlark i' t' thicket beyond;
While t' sunbeams danced gaily on t' surface o' t' pond.
But o ov a sudden a footstep drew near;
An' when aw looked reawnd me blithe Roger wur theer,
He smiled - eh, so kindly, an' bid me 'Good day!'
Then he axed to goo wi' me - an' what could aw say?

When aw stooped down for t' basket 'Howd on theer,' said he;
'Aw'll carry it for tha—tha'rt tired, aw can see.'
Sooa he took it up leetly, an' gaily he talked:
But his language grew sweeter as farther we walked.
When t' market wur ended, we walked back once mooar,
An' he clung to me closely till reychin' th' heawse dooar.
Then he axed me to meet him on some other day;
An' aw raised no objections - for what could aw say?

We met two days after - aw'd gone deawn to t' well;
But soon aw discovered aw weren't bi misel.
Oh! he mun ha' bin watchin', for me he espied;
An' afore aw'd filled t' buckets he stood bi mi side.
'Eh, do let me drink, lass!' he sed wi' a grin;
But he none wanted t' wayter - 'twur me at he'd sin.
An' while aw hoisted t' well rope, he chatted quite gay;
Then he bent o'er and kissed me - an' what could aw say?

That wur but th' beginnin' o' what had to be;
For mony a ramble had Roger an' me.
June changed to December - December to May,
An' eawr luv, wi' acquaintance, grew stronger each day.
But one neet, when ramblin' throo t' meadows so green;
He pressed mi hand softly, an' glanced i' mi een.
An' he talked, an' he pleaded, in such a nice way;
Then he axed me to wed him - an' what could aw say?