The poem
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.