But the one nearest the heart
Is left, and that’s as good as two.
Tom, old fellow, what makes you start?
Why, man, she thinks that empty sleeve
A badge of honor; so do I
And all of us,—I do believe
The fellow is going to cry.
“She deserves a perfect man,” you say.
You, “not worth her in your prime.”
Tom, the arm that has turned to clay