A brown hat made of velvet, and a green coat trimmed in fur,
"Second-handed" garments, that someone gave to her.
Every single Sunday with the same hat on her head,
Same coat on her shoulders,-- off to church she'd tread.
She never had to wonder-- "Whatever shall I wear?"
For her ever faithful outfit, was always hanging there!
She was so good at pretending, that, she really didn't care,
But I would look into her eyes-- and I could see despair.
I used to wish for magic -- I'd use it first on her,
I'd fill her empty closet-- with satin, silk and fur.
She'd glide to church on Sunday-- as lovely as a queen,
For she'd have the finest wardrobe, this town had ever seen!
(Yes, I'd surely change her garments, from her head down to her toes,
But I'd never change the mother -- underneath these clothes!)