(Poem about Little Blossom)
Author Unknown
Oh dear, I'm so tired and so lonesome,
I wonder why Mommy don't come home?
She told me to close my little blue eyes,
And before I'd wake up, she'd be home.
She said she was going to see Grandma,
She lives by the river so bright.
Well, I guess that Mommy fell in there,
And Daddy won't be home tonight.
I guess I'm afraid to stay up here,
Without any fire or light,
But God has lighted the lamps up in Heaven,
I see them all twinkling and bright.
I think I'll go down and meet Daddy,
I suppose he has stopped at the store.
It's a great pretty store full of bottles,
But I wish he wouldn't go there anymore!
Cause sometimes he's sick when he comes home,
He stumbles and falls up the stairs.
And once when he came in the parlor,
He kicked at my poor little chair.
Mommy was all pale and frightened.
She hugged me up close to her breast.
She called me, her poor Little Blossom,
I guess I've forgotten the rest.
No, I remember that Daddy was so angry.
His face was so red and so wild.
I remember he striked at my Mommy
And hurted his poor little child.
But I love him and need to go find him,
Perhaps he'll come home with me soon.
Then it won't be dark and lonely,
Waiting for Mommy to come home.
Out into the night went the baby,
Her little heart beating with fright!
Her tired feet reached the Gin Palace,
All decorated with music and light!
Her little hand pushed the door open.
Her touch was as light as a breath.
Her little feet entered the portal
That leads to ruin and to death.
"Oh, Daddy," she cried, as she reached him.
Her voice rang out, sweet and clear.
"I thought if I'd come here I'd find you.
I am so glad that I'm here!"
"The lights are so pretty, dear Daddy.
And I think that the music is sweet,
But I guess it's 'most suppertime, Daddy.
Blossom's hungry and needs something to eat."
A moment his blurred eyes gazed wildly,
Down into the face sweet and fair.
Then as the Devil possessed him,
He grasped the back of a chair.
A moment, a second, was over,
The work of a fiend was complete.
The poor little innocent Blossom
Lay quivering and crushed at his feet.
Then swift as the light came his reasoning
And showed him the deed he had done.
With a groan that the Devil might pity,
He knelt by the quivering form.
He pressed the pale face to his bosom.
He lifted the fair golden head.
A moment the baby's lips trembled,
Then poor little Blossom was dead.
Then in came the Law and said,
With his life he must pay,
For only a fiend or a madman,
Could murder a child in such way.
But the man who had sold him the whiskey,
That had made him a demon from Hell.
Why, he must be loved and respected,
Because he has a license to sell.
But God pity the women and children,
Who are under the judgement of rum,
And hasten the day when against it,
Neither heart, voice, nor prayer will be dumb.
