And on the floor beside my long, straight row of tidy shoes I put the gray felt slippers.
My man should not be wounded yet, if I could help it.
As long as I should keep the garment I had labored on through still midnights
Hid here within my closet—I locked the door
So long my man escaped!
So long my man was hale, making rough jokes with comrades in the trenches, untouched by shells, shrapnel, fever, fire, or gas.
Or so I told myself.
Perhaps I might have lived for months like that, with my secret hidden,
If they hadn't asked me at headquarters if I had completed yet the work they gave me three weeks ago.
Three weeks! Had it been so long? And Sarah never guessed!
I cried over the pink-and-white Canton flannel that last night.
It might have been a real soldier I was sending forth next day.
I kissed the pocket that would lie so near my man's heart, I thought.
