Classic Poem

The wold clock's feäce is still in pleäce,
Wi' hands a-stealen round,
His bob do swing an' bell do ring,
As when I heärd his sound,
A-leäven hwome, so long a-gone,
An' left en there, a-ticken on.

Noo doust do clog, noo rust uncog
His wheels to keep em still,
Noo blow ha' vell to crack his bell
That still do ringle shrill.
I wish that I'd a-gone so well
'S the clock's wold bob, an' wheels, an' bell.

Who now do wind his chain, a-twin'd
As he do run his hours,
Or meäke a gloss to sheen across
His door, wi' goolden flow'rs,
Since he've a-sounded out the last
Still hours our dear good mother pass'd?