Poetry: Raggedy Man

I was saving this to make a song out of but I may as well let people enjoy it in the meantime.

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