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POOR LITTLE JOE, by                    
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?





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