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