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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
POOR LITTLE JOE, by ANONYMOUS First Line: "prop yer eyes wide open, joey" Last Line: "oh, my god! Can oe be dead?" Subject(s): Death; "dead, The; | |||
PROP yer eyes wide open, Joey, Fur I've brought you sumpin' great. Apples? No, but something better! Don't you take no int'rest? Wait! Flowers, Joe, -- I knowed you'd like 'em -- Ain't them scrumptious? Ain't them high? Tears, my boy? Wot's them fur, Joey? There -- poor little Joe! -- don't cry. I was skippin' past a winder Where a bang-up lady sot All amongst a lot of bushes, Each one climbin' from a pot; Every bush had flowers on it -- Pretty? Mebbe! Oh, no! Wish you could a seen 'em growin', It was sich a stunnin' show. Well, I thought of you, poor feller, Lyin' here so sick and weak, Never knowin' any comfort, And I puts on lots o' cheek. "Missus," says I, "if you please, mum, Could I ax you for a rose? For my little brother, missus, Never seed one, I suppose." Then I told her all about you, -- How I bringed yer up, poor Joe! (Lackin' women-folks to do it) Such a' imp you was, you know, -- Till yer got that awful tumble, Just as I had broke yer in (Hard work too) to earn your livin' Blackin' boots for honest tin. How that tumble crippled of you, So's you could n't hyper much, -- Joe, it hurted when I seen you Fur the first time with yer crutch. "But," I says, "he's laid up now, mum, 'Pears to weaken every day." Joe, she up and went to cuttin', -- That's the how of this bokay. Say, it seems to me, ole feller, You is quite yourself to-night; Kind o' chirk; it's been a fortnight Since yer eyes has been so bright. Better? Well, I'm glad to hear it. Yes, they're mighty pretty, Joe. Smellin' of 'em 's made you happy! Well, I thought it would, you know. Never seed the country, did you? Flowers growin' everywhere! Sometime, when you're better, Joey, Mebbe I kin take you there. Flowers in heaven? 'M -- I s'pose so; Don't know much about it, though; Ain't as fly as what I might be On them topics, little Joe. But I've heard it hinted, somewheres, That in heaven's golden gates Things is everlastin' cheerful, -- B'lieve that's wot the Bible states. Likewise, there folks don't get hungry; So good people when they dies Finds themselves well fixed forever -- Joe, my boy, wot ails yer eyes? Thought they looked a little sing'ler. Oh, no! Don't you have no fear; Heaven was made for such as you is -- Joe, what makes you look so queer? Here -- wake up! Oh, don't look that way! Joe! My boy! Hold up your head! Here's your flowers -- you dropped 'em, Joey -- Oh, my God! can joe be dead? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SITTING BULL IN SERBIA by WILLIAM JAY SMITH TO THE EXCELLENT ORINDA by PHILO PHILIPPA EPIGRAM OCCASIONED BY CIBBER'S VERSES IN PRAISE OF NASH: 1 by ALEXANDER POPE THE GIFT OF THE GODS by JOHN GODFREY SAXE TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH by ALFRED TENNYSON BEAU NASH by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER BEAU NASH AND THE ROMAN, OR THE TWO ERAS by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS |
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