Old Black Joe

Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay;
Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away;
Gone from this earth to a better land, I know,
I hear their gentle voices calling Old Black Joe.

Chorus –
I’m coming, I’m coming, for my head is bending low;
I hear those gentle voices calling Old Black Joe.

Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain?
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again?
Grieving for forms now departed long ago,
I hear their gentle voices calling Old Black Joe.

I shall gladly answer all letters I get.
I’m 15 years old. Will close with three
cheers for winter time! – MILDRED LORENE
NUNNELEY, Elk City, Beckham Co., Ok.

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