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Darlin Little Joe

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Darlin' Little Joe

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Darlin' Little Joe

What will the birds do, mother, in the spring
When the little brown birds come to my door?
They'll hop on the window, they'll hop on the step
Asking why Little Joe roams no more.
Mother, love Tiger, love Tiger for me
For you know he will mourn for me true,
Show him my coat so he will not forget
For then his master will be dead;
Speak to him often and gently of Joe
And pat him on his black shaggy head.

What will ole Thomas, the gardner say
When you ask him for flowers for me?
He'll give you the roses he tended so long
The first fairest flowers on the tree.
What will the kitten do, mother, all alone
Will she in her frolic run and play?
Or lie on the rug by the side of my bed
As she did when I once went away.

Poor Uncle Ben in a far away camp
Will be sad o'er the letters that you write,
He'll say, mother dear, little Joe's gone to rest
Marching nearer and nearer the line.
And you, Mother dear, will you miss me for a while
But up in Heaven, no larger will I grow
And many kind angels will know when you ask
At the gate for your own little Joe.

From the Max Hunter Collection
Collected from Mrs. Rubibow, Seligman, MO Sept 1958
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