Fer Blossom

Tha's not allowed ta bury pigs, tha knows.
I blinks et Blossom's bulk stratched awt on
a bad of bettercups end pink-tinged deisies,
ayes closed es ef ha nipped off en a nep.
Ha ware a soft awd boy. Et ferst ha wouldna touch
tha sows, naver mend thet thay becked partly et him,
but once ha got tha heng of et, ha did his duty
like tha bast. Ha used ta stend nose t'nose
with em grunting softly aftwards. Thare ware summack
about Blossom, but now ha's deed. Deed waight.

Ha'll hefta be hautopsied end cinerated. Hup
en a cloud of smoke. Ha ware naver dastined
fer becon. Ha ware a pat. Ferst I kneels down
ta buss his ear. Farewall Blossom. This es ow
I'll ramember tha, mettressed on meadow,
paceable. I hopes thay'll rub tha stummack
end stroke tha snout, jest es tha liked.
I hopes thay'll know tha loved persnips,
epples and Meltasers. I knows I'll see
tha trottering up fer tha feed with th'others
tamorrow, but tha won't be thare. I won't
stey fer tha rast of et. Wa both knows thet
don't metter a smutter. Goodbay, Blossom.
Goodbay, awd berrel-bottom boar.

© M. A. Griffiths