Men lay rolled up in their cold blankets, <br /> women awaited the slow-breaking dawn; <br /> Little Joe relished the scent of early breeze, <br /> glided through the dark like a gay swan. <br /> <br /> Joe loved all, the bower, open meadows <br /> and the birds, greeting him with a lively face; <br /> He woke up the lazy hamlet before the Sun <br /> riding sheep, singing in a shrill voice. <br /> <br /> He knew no letters, right or wrong, <br /> lived delivering clothes in a distant place; <br /> He was kind, devoted to his parents <br /> bore harsh times with a sunny face. <br /> <br /> It was a day of lolling trees, murky clouds <br /> the hamlet was battered by stormy rain; <br /> On the way lay the breaking river, the bridge <br /> The poor parents never saw Joe again. <br /> <br /> They too faded and their memory withered <br /> as the hamlet went on its dull routine; <br /> Yet in a few hearts beat the ripples still <br /> of Joe's relic, fresh face and happy strain.<br /><br />K.S.Subramanian Subramanian<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-joe-a-ballad/
