Who will give us a pattern
For hero clothes?

He is returning weary
Of laurel withered by the sun,
Of battle armor and medals
Now his work is done.
Though new things are ready
He will wear the old instead,
Shoe, scuffed and easy;
Torn hat upon his head;
Blue shirt without a tie
And pants turned gray by soap
Because these things restore in him
An almost vanished hope.

None but the hero has
A pattern for his clothes,
Measured by months of longing,
Cut from cloth he knows.