by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson (1878 - 1962)

Sam Spraggon
Language: English 
From Wolsingham to Frosterley 
I strode one winter's morning, 
And ho ! my heart was scorning 
All sleepyheads and lie-abeds 
That drew the clothes about their heads 
Instead of striding on with me 
From Wolsingham to Frosterley. 

From Wolsingham to Frosterley 
I hobble this spring morning, 
Too old and bent for scorning, 
And longing just to lie abed 
And never lift again my head, 
Instead of hobbling wearily 
From Wolsingham to Frosterley.

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2009-01-30
Line count: 14
Word count: 71