Hawkers

Dust, dust, dust and a dog – Oh! The sheep-dog won’t be last. When the long, long, shadow of the old bay horse With the shadow of his mate is cast. A brick-brown woman with the brick-brown kids, And a man with his head half-mast, The feed-bags hung and the bedding slung, And the blackened bucket made fast Where the tailboard clings to the tucker and things – So the hawker’s van goes past.