What will the birds do, mother, in the spring Will they gather their crumbs around my door Will they fly from the trees and tap at my window Asking why Joe wanders out no more 
What will the kitten do, mother all alone Will he stop from his frolic for a day Will he lie on the rug by the side of my bed Like he did before I went away 
What will Thomas the old gardener say When you ask him for flowers for me Will he give you the rose he has tended with care The first fairest bloom on the tree 
I saw the tears come in his honest eyes But he said ’twas the wind that brought them there As he gazed on my cheeks growing paler each day And his hand trembled over my hair 
Keep Tag, mother, my poor little dog I know he’ll mourn for me too Keep him till blind 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 kindly and often, you know Pat him on his brown shaggy head 
And you, dearest mother, will miss me for a while But in heaven I’ll no larger grow And any kind angel will know at the gate When you ask for your darling little Joe 
file from: www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
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