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 was n'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.