GALLANTLY swung the old carpenter up to his door, <br />Drums and fifes in his tread, <br />But softly he crossed the braided mats on the floor, <br />Gently he stroked her head. <br />'More folks were there at the station than ever I knew, <br />Bidding the lad good-by. <br />Here's a daisy he picked at the platform's edge for you, <br />Kissing it on the sly. <br />'He'll do his part, our boy, on the fighting line'; <br />— She caught the flower to her lips— <br />'And you with your knitting, and I have signed up for mine, <br />Work on the wooden ships. <br />'Oh, but it's hard to be old when the bugles call, <br />Yet I hav'n't lost my chance. <br />I'll be in the shipyard the day the first trees fall, <br />Before the boy's in France.'<br /><br />Katharine Lee Bates<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-bit/
