Ride of the Shires

Long past, are the days of the Shires.
Trotting thru the fells,
Beribboned flags adornin’;
In season – Christmas bells.

We’d bring ‘em off the moors,
 An’ brush ‘em ‘til they’d shine;
By gaw, they were a sight an’ all.
 They’d shimmer like the Tyne.

We’d ‘ave an early start by gaw.
Aye, an’ late we’d finish, too.
We’d bring the Shires home at night,
Then start each morn’ anew.

Then we’re back ‘ere once again
To curry comb their silky coats.
Then we’d retire to ‘ave our teas,
While them’d ‘ave Chop an’ Oats.

Come day we’d work an’ polish more,
Combed feathers, white as snow,
An’ ribbons grace their silky tails,
 “Scotch bottom” shoes for show.

Aye, but there’s no row of ‘em in there now,
Jus’ barfins and bridles on the stalls,
The reins hang still in silent apperception,
All shinin’ on the walls.