Raggedy Man

Raggedy Man

Once I met a raggedy man
His name was Peter Jay
He’d knock on doors collecting rags
From dawn till end of day
He’d take them back to his old grandma
She’d cut them into long strips
Then she and ma would braid them
Round and round they’d go
And make a rug as big as a horse
From pieces of old calico

Peter Jay the raggedy man
He’d go from door to door
His bells a’ jingly jangling’
Around his belt so worn
The housewives would drag out their old rags
Tied up in threadbare sheets
And sometimes they’d give him a biscuit or water
And beg him to sit and rest his feet

Peter Jay grew old and gray
His back was bent from toil
But he never grew no beans nor cotton
Or made no olive oil
His garden was a city full of rags and scraps
His Ma would make them into rugs and hats and bags and sacks
The braiding would go round and round
Until the work was done
Then they’d sell them in the market
Under the summer sun

Peter Jay he is no more
I haven’t seen him in many years
But I still have that braided rug
And my grandkids love it dear.



Copyright FZH 2005