I wrote a couple of Wednesday’s ago how my mother used to recite poetry to me as a child which I assume was intended to influence me in how I should lead my life. At that time I wrote about a little boy dying at home who could not wait for the spring to come. I suggested that was supposed to make me feel empathy for those who were trapped in poverty unable to have any medical help. At the time she was reciting these poems we were living in a housing project being assisted by the government, probably not far from the clutches of poverty itself should some untoward event happen to us, which fortunately it did not.
Today there are still too may little boys and girls and their families unable to gain medical care. Yet we see there are many who want to take medical coverage away from these poor as we see with Republicans who have gone to court to defeat the individual mandate in the Affordable Care Act and are in court seeking to take away the coverage afforded by that act to millions of Americans. They have nothing to replace it.
Today’s poem was recited by my mother to make me realize life is a gift that may be snatched away at any moment. That while we are living we should be generous and helpful to others and not be filled with hate or fear. It is especially pertinent at this time when we have Covid-19 stalking the land and Trump embracing a policy of herd immunity. The United States with 4% of the world’s population has 25% of the Covid-19 cases with the number over six million – far from the fifteen and going to zero – and 184,000 deaths, with the situation growing worse. I guess those who pointed to auto accidents or flu deaths have abandoned doing that. Yet, they still maintain Trump is doing a good job. Tell that to the families of those who have died!
The poem is by Eugene Field:
Little Boy Blue
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket molds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.