Oh! I wish we had a fire,
Wi proper grate wi coil in
Yer’d lift yer skirt above the flames
An’ get yer buttocks boilin’
Yorkshire range wi taties in
An’ t’kettle allus steamin’,
Winter then were pretty fine
Or perraps I’m only dreamin’.
Crumpets on a toastin’ fork
Hangin’ over t’embers
Butter runnin’ darn thi chin
How many else remembers?
© Amanda Samm
See full poem in “Candle”