What will the birds do, Mother, in the spring
Will they gather crumbs around my door
Will they fly from the trees, tap upon my window
And ask why Joe wanders out no more

And what will the kitten do, Mother, all alone
Will he stop from his prowling for a day
Will he lay on the rug by the side of my bed
As he did before I went away

And what will Thomas the old gardner say
When you ask him for flowers for me
Will he give you a rose he has tended with care
First fairest bloom from the tree

I could see the teadrops forming in his honest old eyes
He said it was the wind that brought them there
As he gazed on my cheeks arowing paler each day
His hands trembling o'er my hair

Keep tige, Mother, my poor little dog
I know he will mourn for me too
Keep him though old and useless he grows
Sleeping the whole summer through

Show him my coat, Mother, so he won't forget
His master who then will be dead
Speak to him often and kindly of Joe
And pat him on his brown shaggy head

And you dearest, Mother, may miss me for a while
But in heaven no larger I'll grow
And any kind angel well know at the gate
When you ask for your darling little Joe