Chris Hudson


I can see dear Jessie now; trampin' like her dad
Over sodden heath of misty Mordake Moor
Wearing her brothers army boots he'd used in time of war,
And those woollen socks of mine I had never holed or sewn
(I never got them back she took them as her own) .

Appearance never was her prime concern
With tangled hair as black as coal
Never brushed or combed

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