Joey

 I thought I would go daft when Joey died.

He was my first, and wise beyond his years.

For nigh a hundred nights I cried and cried,
Until my weary eyes burned up my tears.

Willie and Rosie tried to comfort me:
A woeful, weeping family were we.


I was a widow with no friends at all,
Ironing men's shirts to buy my kiddies grub;
And then one day a lawyer came to call,
Me with my arms deep in the washing-tub.

The gentleman who ran poor Joey down
Was willing to give us a thousand poun'.


What a godsend! It meant goodbye to care,
The fear of being dumped out on the street.

Rosie and Willie could have wool to wear,
And more than bread and margerine to eat .
 .
 .

To Joey's broken little legs we owe
Our rescue from a fate of want and woe.


How happily he hurried home to me,
Bringing a new-baked, crisp-brown loaf of bread.

The headlights of the car he did not see,
And when help came they thought that he was dead.

He stared with wonder from a face so wan .
 .
 .

A long, last look and he was gone,--was gone.


We've comfort now, and yet it hurts to know
We owe our joy to little, laughing Joe.

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