id="pgepubid00023">WAITIN'

Back of the Front in this durn trainin' camp,
Day after day we are stuck, an' we swear
Whenever we hear th' regular tramp
Of th' men who are through and are goin' somewhere.
We're all of us willin', but why keep us drillin'
Forever?... Just waitin' for somethin' to do!

At home they are readin' th' outlandish name
Of a battle that's won or a hero that's dead
Of a stunt that had won him a place in this Game—
But all that I've won is a cold in my head!
While others are fightin' we're readin' or writin'—
An' the censors will see that it don't get to you!

We long for a scrap that will sizzle the blood;
We hone for a chance to bust in a head;
This marchin' an' diggin' in acres of mud
Ain't as excitin' as bein' plain dead.
War may be a curse, but this here is worse—
This dreamin' th' dreams that never come true.

All set for a mix-up that we can't begin;
Ready and anxious for whatever comes,
We're linked to the side-lines.... Ain't it a sin,
Spendin' good hours a-twiddlin' thumbs?
Seems like a crime to waste so much time
A-waitin'—an' waitin'! You'd find it so, too.

My bunkie is peevish, and I'm out of tune;
The Capting's a grouch whenever we hike;
If we don't get into this muss pretty soon,
We fellers are likely to go on a strike!
We signed for a scrap, not a tea or a nap,
Or to wait,
And to wait,
And to wait—
Till it's through!

WE'RE ALL RIGHT HERE!

What's th' meanin' of the look you see in soldiers' eyes?
Some of them you thought would kick an' stall around an' howl;
But just listen (if they'll talk) an' hear, to your surprise,
A lot of laughs, a lot o' tales—but never once a growl!

That's the meaning of the call; ev'ry man is proud
He is in the common cause, with a bunch of men
Fighting for democracy, lined up with this crowd—
God! It's pretty nifty just to be a man again!

REPRISAL

Sister Susie's sittin' knittin'
Sweaters, wristlets, scarfs, an' socks;
She ain't "sewin' shirts for soldiers"
'Cause she got so many knocks
From th' papers 'bout her sewin'—
Now she's knittin' pounds of yarn
Into things to send away.... Well,
I don't care,
Don't care a darn!

Hasn't knit no scarf or sweater,
Hasn't made no socks for me;
Little brother, he can rustle
For himself alone, you see!
Maw is on the Help Committee,
Paw is drillin' with th' Guard;
Brother's soldierin'—and sister's
Knittin' fast
An' awful hard!

No, they won't pay me no 'tention,
So I'm goin' to run away,
Join th' army as a—as a
Bellboy, may be, without pay.
Then I'll get a scarf an' sweater
And some socks, soon as I go,
From some other feller's sister
That I do not
Even know.

THE SOUL OF SERGEANT TODD

"I wasn't so much of a soldier," said the soul of Sergeant Todd,
(Fumbling at his medal, that statement sounded odd.)
"I wasn't so much of a fighter, but when they came, and came,
Yelling and shooting, I just got mad, and I reckon I did the same.
Into my trench they piled—just boys—
Making a most outlandish noise."

A Corporal's soul beside him nodded and mustered a smile:
"You handled a dozen at once," he said; "they didn't come single file.
If you wasn't 'much of a soldier,' or shirked in your duty—well, say,
What sort of a chance have other men got when tested on Judgment Day?
You fought them all, you did; and when
They quit, you started in again!"

"Shut up!" said the soul of Sergeant Todd; "you're still in my squad, McQuade,
I say that I lacked what you did not lack—courage to die, unafraid.
I was a coward, a trembling coward, deep in my craven heart;
I fought with the fear of that fear at my soul, playing no hero's part!
You can't understand it—but I
Had none of the courage—to die!

"And now that I'm dead," said the troubled soul of the one-time Sergeant Todd,
"It didn't seem right that those who live should think I have met our God
As a brave man does: his honor clear, with his courage unscathed and whole.
On this high plane there is no room for a fear-troubled human soul;
So Sergeant Todd" (he bowed his head)
"Fears no more—for his body's dead!"

THE BUSY LADY

We meet ev'ry week to make surgical dressings—
And one woman does it dead wrong;
I watched her a day—then I just had to say,
"My dear! If I may—that's too long!"
While I was explaining the teacher came by—
She's so cross that her mouth's just a line—
And found fault with me and my work....
After that
I'll mind no one's business but mine!

To-day I was filling my neighbor's slow mind
With War-Garden ideas and lore,
When a dog I don't know just ruined mine—so
I'll not advise her any more!
Then a talk that I gave to the Home Service Group
On "Waste" was quite spoiled—though 'twas fine—
By my bread burning up while I talked....
After this
I'll mind no one's business but mine!

At a lecture on "Hospital Units at Work"
A woman (who looked fifty-three)
Ere the talk had begun started crying.... Her son