My Hat!
The hats of a man may be many
In the course of a varied career,
And some have been worth not a penny
And some have been devilish dear;
But there's one hat I always remember
When sitting alone by the fire.
In the depth of a Northern November,
Because it fulfilled my desire.
It was old, it was ragged and rotten
And many years out of mode,
Like a thing that a tramp had forgotten
And left at the side of a road.
The boughs of the mulga had torn it,
It's ribbon was naught but lace,
And old swaggie would not have worn it
Without a sad smile on his face.
When I took off the hat to the ladies
It was rather with sorrow than swank,
And often I wished it in Hades
When the gesture drew only a blank;
But for swatting a fly on the tucker
Or lifting a quart from the fire
Or belting the ribs of a bucker
It was all that a man could desire.
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poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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