There are times a woman’s love
Fer a man stands out, I guess,
More ‘n usual, like as when
Sickness comes or else distress;
But I reckon that it shines
Brighter than a taller dip
When a man is goin’ away
An’ she comes t’ pack his grip.
‘Pears t’ me she seems t’ think
More about his comforts then;
Puts in slippers, jes’ as though
They were worn by traveling men;
Fusses round an’ round th’ room,
Hopin’, maybe, that she’ll see
Somethin’ that perhaps he’ll need—
Jes’ as thoughtful as can be.
Packs in heavy underwear,
Fearin’ that it may get cold;
It is most remarkable
What a common grip will hold
When a woman fills it up—
Things fer sunshine an’ fer rain,
Pills fer every kind of ills,
Liniment fer every pain.
Seen her pack that grip o’ mine
Hundred times, I guess, an’ more;
Heard her sigh while doin’ it,
Kneelin’ on th’ bedroom floor;
An’ I never went away
On the shortest kind o’ trip
Without feelin’ that her heart
Had been packed inside my grip.
Other works by Edgar Albert Guest...
