E'en In The Wurst O Times. (Sonnet) Poem by Dan Reynolds

E'en in the wurst o times. (Sonnet)

Where is the sun tay warm these frosted veins?
Whit power can reinstall his childish glint?
Two bags o' nutty slack, the whole weeks gains
No hoorhoose like the poorhoose for the skint.

His face whene'er she saw him, aye ways mucky
The clatter o his segs came up the stair
A tin bath by the fire, if he's lucky
Anither day tay drain his will tay care.

Had God bit gee'd him some mer brains or gumption.
Tay stem the flow his loins had deemed his fate
Ten weans born, bit four deid wi the consumption
The glory days afore the Wellfare State.

The sun tay warm those frosted veins
wiz shining all along.
For through the patched up windies
seeped the laughter o' their song.