From The Birmingham Age-Herald, June 9, 1914. By Richard Mansfield.
Bring me that coat!
I wore it when I wooed her first!
Her mittened hand was on the sleeve
And stayed me when I feigned to read
Her silence a command to leave.
Search well the pockets, will you find
A tiny, useless bit of lace?
I stole it from the hand that hid
The smile that dawned upon her face.
Bring me that coat!
Be sure no vestige of these now
Of amber-scented lock no trace?
There is a silent witness still
More precious far than glove or lace!
’Tis here where you may scarcely see
The little rent a blackthorn tore;
That’s where her loving fingers delved,
That’s where her loving glances bore!
Look at the stitches close and neat,
You’ll barely find the rent I tore—
She mended all my life like that!
Bring me that coat, that coat once more!
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