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Friday, 20 October 2017
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Hank Snow - Lyrics

Songs Of Tragedy - Album

Little Joe

What will the birds do, mother, in the spring

When they stop to gather crumbs around the door

Will they fly from the trees half as nice with glee

Askin' why Joe wanders out no more

What will the kitten do, mother, all alone

Will he stop from his frolick for the day

Will he lie on his rug by the side of my bed

As he did before I went away

What will Thomas, that old gardener, say

When you ask him for flowers for me

Will he give you a rose he has tended with care

The first, fairest bloom of the tree

I have seen the tears in his honest, old eyes

But he said it was the wind that brought them there

As he gazed on my cheeks growing paler each day

And his hand went trembling through my hair

Keep tied, mother, my poor little dog

For I know he will mourn for me too

Just keep him when old and useless he grows

Sleepin' the whole summer through

Show him my coat, mother, so he'll not forget

His master who then will be dead

Just speak to him kindly and often of Joe

And pat him on his brown, shaggy head

And you, dearest mother, may miss me for a while

But in Heaven I'll no larger grow

And any kind angel will know at the gate

When you ask for your darlin' little Joe

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