THE SONG OF THE SOCK
79
He dreamed that on his mother's knee,A golden, curly head,Before the fire he warmed his feetEre he should go to bed;She felt his tiny toes—He woke—'Twas but a dream that mocks;For she was dead—" Or I this dayWad no' hae wanted socks!"
Just then a much-wished mail came in,And there was great a-do,To find out rightly which was which,And what was there for who;The postman picked a parcel up;"For Private Weelum Knox!"—Will slipped the string, and out there fellA pair o' worsted socks!
There was beside a hame-baked cakeTo help him wi' his tea;A case of Straight Cut CigarettesStraight frae Virginiee;Some soap, some jam, a packet neatO' Edina's far-famed rocks,But first and best o' a', a pairO' well-knit woollen socks!
