Oh For Dry Pavements
by Jenny S Stewart

Fan fowk stamp feet till loosen snow,
Three guesses far e gunge'll go,
Id splashes leygs an further on,
Until ah fear, ma tempers gone.

Thur's nothane worse (except hard cheese),
Than lumps o slush lodged 'tween yur knees,
As some chiel, lookin smug, glides past
Through clods o muck, then gies a blast.

Ma blood-pressure's been taxed till limit,
Cleyz a skinted, feet eye in it,
Boot wan thing sure, a clean, dry street,
Wid be a tonic till ma feet.