XVIII.

I'd like to have a lock of her brown hair, For that would be a part of her, you know; And if she'd tie it with a little bow Of ribbon, then I'd fasten it somewhere Clear down inside, next to my heart, to wear, And fix it over every week or so, When I changed undershirts, or maw she'd go And raise a fuss because she found it there.

One day when bizness wasn't on the boom She trimmed her finger-nails, and one piece flew To where I was, almost acrost the room; I watched the spot where it went tumblin' to, And now a piece of her is mine; it come Right from the end of her dear little thumb.