THE ONLY CHILD
Reading edition
When I was small My mother had an Indian shawl, Spun from the friendliest kind of goat And dyed a comfortable red. And when I had a pain in my throat I used to take the shawl to bed. So soft it was That through her wedding-ring ’twould pass; So warm, it nursed all care aside; So wide, a covey of babes might be Happed up in it—soft, warm and wide As sleep, that shawl was lent to me.