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Joey

by
 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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