My Little Black Bag

My little Black Bag packed full and tight With a robe, and a comb, and a prayer devout, And I was off to spend the night With the kiddies while Mother and Dad stepped out.

The little Black Bag, it lasted long. ’Twas a family asset, a family pride; A kind of a cradle song For the kiddies I gathered so near my side.

But the little Black Bag was worn and bent As a change in the family die was cast; Like the owner who came and went, It was dropped by the years into the past.