| Mother, what will Thomas, the old gardener say
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| When you ask him for flowers for me?
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| Will he give you a rose he has tended with care?
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| The fairest, fairest broom on the tree
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| What will the birds do, mother, in the spring?
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| Will they gather the crumbs around our door?
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| Will they fly from the trees and tap at my window
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| Asking why Joe wanders out no more?
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| What will the kitten do, mother, all alone?
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| Will he stop from his frolic for a day?
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| Will he lie on the rug by the side of my bed
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| As he did before I went away?
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| I’ve seen tears come in his honest eyes
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| But he said it was the wind that brought 'em there
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| As he gazed on my cheeks growing paler everyday
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| His hand trembled over my hair
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| Keep Tag, mother, my poor little dog
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| I know he will mourn for me too
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| Keep him in old and unless he grows
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| Sleeping all along summer through
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| Show him my coat, mother, so he’ll not forget
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| His master then will be dead
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| Speak to him kindly and often of Joe
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| Pat him on his brown shaggy head
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| And you, mother dear, may you miss me for a while?
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| But in heaven no larger I grow
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| And any kind angel will open the gate
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| When you ask for your darling Little Joe
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| And any kind angel will open the gate
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| When you ask for your darling Little Joe |