There's a uniform that's lying in what's known as Father's room,
A uniform so simple in its style.
It's got no braid of gold or silk, no hat of feathered bloom,
Yet my mother has preserved it all the while.
One day she let me try it on, a wish of mine for years,
“In memory of your Father dear,” she said.
And as I placed the Sam Brown on, she was smiling through her tears
As she placed the Broad Black Brimmer on my head.