HE
When I come back,
Beneath my helmet muddy,
There’ll be a smile, stored through the strife, for you;
There’ll be a kiss, tender and warm—aye, ruddy
With hint of Gallic skies, for my real buddy
(That’s soldier talk, and soldier talk rings true).
As I come back,
Down the street flags adorning,
Half seeing all the pomp for sight of you,
Foretaste I’ll know of gladsome days a-borning
For us, come out of Night at last to Morning
From the Long Trail that terminates for two.
Oh, but I will come back to you, my Mother!
Wounded? Why, no! ... I will come back!
Arthur McKeogh, Lt., Inf.