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Poem	When I went by the meadow gate The chestnut mare would trot to meet me, And as her coming I would wait, She'd whinney high as if to greet me. And I would kiss her silky nose, And stroke her neck until it glistened, And speak soft words: I don't suppose She understand - but how she listened! Then in the war-net I was caught, Returning three black winters older; And when the little mare I sought The farmer told me he had sold her. And so time passed - when in the street One day I heard a plaintive whinney That roused a recollection sweet, So then I turned and there was Winnie. I vow she knew me, mooning there. She raised her nose for me to fondle, And though I'd lost an arm I'll swear She kissed the empty sleeve a-dangle. But oh it cut me to the heart, Though I was awful glad to meet her, For lo! she dragged a tinker's cart And stumbled weakly as he beat her. Just skin and bone, a sorry hack! Say, fellow, you may think it funny: I made a deal and bought her back, Though it took all my bonus money. And she'll be in the meadow there, As long as I have dough for spending . . . Gee! I'll take care of that old mare - "Sweetheart! you'll have a happy ending."
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