The Ballad of Old Joe
They say he never moved fast,
But he never moved slow.
Under the big brown oak,
Lies our dear Old Joe.
Seventy-two years ago,
Give or take a few,
Old Joe came into this world,
Unscathed, untouched, all-new.
Joe’s younger days
Were spent working on the farm,
His teenage years,
Spent doing his body some harm.
He was drafted to the war,
He served his time,
Joe came back a man,
A man now past his prime.
They say he never moved fast,
But he never moved slow.
Under the big brown oak,
Lies our dear Old Joe.
Joe settled down,
Married, and children he raised two,
They both moved away,
Joe and their Ma, left lonesome and blue.
Ma caught a cold,
Joe never left her side.
The doctor’s news,
Joe’s tears he could not hide.
They say he never moved fast,
But he never moved slow.
Under the big brown oak,
Lies our dear Old Joe.
Joe’s boys came back,
To pay their respects,
Neither offered to share with Joe,
Their generous paychecks.
Joe spent all his money,
Then turned back to the bottle,
His motorcycle veered off,
Hands gripping the throttle.
Joe said he found Jesus,
Now he’d seen the light,
Joe never fully recovered,
Old man lost his sight.
They say he never moved fast,
But he never moved slow.
Under the big brown oak,
Lies our dear Old Joe.
Now the old man,
With none sitting nearby,
Joe thought of his wife,
Oh how Joe did cry.
He climbed out of bed,
And crept through the nursing home halls,
Joe wanted to be outside,
His hands guided him along the walls.
Joe walked until he couldn’t,
Collapsing in the shade.
He recalled his long life,
Letting each memory fade.
They say he never moved fast,
But he never moved slow.
Under the big brown oak,
Lies our dear Old Joe.
J.P. Polewczak
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