Friday, 17th October
20. Gorewnter Marcus
Great-Uncle Marcus
Howlleskys o an den, ha kottha ages
agan Tas, del vyli dhebm. Onketh o y dhillas.
The man was sunburnt, and older than our Dad,
it seemed to me. His clothes were strange.
“Rag fra nag eus lavrek dhodho?”
e’medh Jana.
“Why hasn’t he any trousers?” said Jane.
“Na wra che bos
mar dhiskortes!” e’medham.
“Don’t be so rude!” I said.
Bes na wrug an den onderstondya, del
vyli dhebm, poken nag erava ow koslowes.
But the man hadn’t understood, it seemed to me,
or else he wasn’t listening.
Therava ow minhwerthin, hwath. Ev a
viras war tu ha’n daras krow gever ha pedndroppya dhe’n Tas.
He was still smiling. He looked towards the
door of the goat shed while nodding to Dad.
Tas a geas an daras. “Na wrewgh hwei
nevra gara an daras ma egor.”
Dad closed the door. “Never leave this door
open.”
Vercyon nowydh:
termyn ha scrifa-compòster treylys:

No comments:
Post a Comment