Sinopsis

Johnny had a golden head Like a golden mop in blow, Right and left his curls would spread In a glory and a glow, And they framed his honest face Like stray sunbeams out of place. Long and thick, they half could hide How threadbare his patched jacket hung; They used to be his Mother's pride; She praised them with a tender tongue, And stroked them with a loving finger That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger. On a doorstep Johnny sat, Up and down the street looked he; Johnny did not own a hat, Hot or cold tho' days might be; Johnny did not own a boot To cover up his muddy foot. Johnny's face was pale and thin, Pale with hunger and with crying; For his Mother lay within, Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying, While Johnny racked his brains to think How to get her help and drink, Get her physic, get her tea, Get her bread and something nice; Not a penny piece had he, And scarce a shilling might suffice; No wonder that his soul was sad, When not one penny piece he had