Lyrics Joe The Quilt-Maker - Richard Dawson

Joe The Quilt-Maker

A lonely cottage on the mound
A century’s work of
Stood trembling and quiet
Until it was acquired
By canny Joe the quilt-maker
He fenced in a patch of land
As from the stroke of a magic wand
A garden
Sprung forth
From the hand of Joe the quilt-maker
His cot secure, his flowerbeds neat
Glad were his neighbours all to meet
And chew the fat
And to swallow the coffee
Of kindly Joe the quilt-maker
Of each he had some good to say
Some friendly token to display
And seldom few people
Could cheer a winter’s day
Like gregarious Joe the quilt-maker
Beloved by all even the
Great
And at the dinner table
Sometimes they set a plate
For respected Joe the quilt-maker
His quilts with country fame were crowned
Superbly sewn and dotted around
With pretty little figures
And in flight
Most ingenious Joe the quilt-maker
His wife was sick bedridden and old
To ease her pain he spent he sold
Oh there was never bought
Not for silver or for gold
Such love as Joe the quilt-maker
From dawn til dusk he tenderly nursed
The poor old hag grew worse and worse
And soon
She was lifted to a hearse
By heartbroken Joe the quilt-maker
Lost in widowhood’s embrace
All hope had flown without a trace
The home they’d made
Soon become a cage
For enfeebled Joe the quilt-maker
But there were friends who cheered his days
Both coin and food they strove to raise
And there was always some kind soul
Dropping in to say
Afternoon to Joe the quilt-maker
The days and months and years rolled by
The scales were lifted from his eyes
The ground beneath his feet and the
Colour in his cheeks
Were restored to Joe the quilt-maker
Not seeing past the end of his nose
Back to the needle he nimbly goed
In several of the taverns
We raised a cup of ale
To courageous Joe the quilt-maker
Often in his solitary
Through spectacles and godly verse
A mirror made of paper
Would stare at the reflection
Of pious Joe the quilt-maker
And first he Autumn of his days
In quiet contemplation
Except when he would welcome
A wandering stranger
Most hospitable Joe the quilt-maker
From which dark source it cannot be said
Somehow the bogus rumour spread
That never in Hexham
There’d been a richer man
Than impoverished Joe the quilt-maker
Strolling round the market square
A smiling pilgrim unaware
The devil’s in the doorway
Of the old hall
With his eyes fixed on the doomed quilt-maker
I found a pair of clogs in the lane
Some drops of blood where they had lain
And following the breadcrumbs
I came upon the dreadful
Remains of Joe the quilt-maker
It must have been a number of days
The fat black flies were on his face
I fainted in a flowerbed
And threw up on the bright yellow
Poppies of Joe the quilt-maker
Judging from the wounds on his hands
It’s fair to assume a most valiant stand
Was met by his assailants
And fought out to the very last breath
Of Joe the quilt-maker
It’s thought they numbered two or three
The evidence was plain to see
And a garden hose sticky with the
Grey hair of Joe the quilt-maker
Despite a hundred Guinea reward
The culprits have remained uncaught
And nobody is looking
Each other in the eyes
At the funeral of Joe the quilt-maker
And now that night is drawing in
I pull the quilt up to my chin
And listen to the trees outside
Creaking in the wind
A song for Joe the quilt-maker