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.
