My love carries a photograph
In a locket made of silver
That delicately hangs around her neck
So precious to her is that
Locket and its treasure of the
Likeness of the man that she loves
Often in the morning, she can be
Found polishing with a
Piece of silk taken from a dress she used to wear
Seldom does an afternoon pass
Where she can't be seen with
The locket laying open in the palm of her hand
And every night, before she sleeps
She kisses her love and gently hangs
The locket on the post of her bed
My love carries a photograph
In a locket made of silver
And the likeness is not of me