Then some day you meet a soldier on a furlough for a week;
And you think it only friendly to go up to him and speak;
And you find you knew his brother, or his cousin, or his friend,
And your job upon the outside has found a sudden end;
For a longing fierce comes over you, and you cannot resist--
It's the crisis of the fever--and you reenlist.
ONE TO THE ARMY BEAN
I've eaten funny dishes on Luzon's tropical shore,
I've eaten Japan's bamboo shoots and oysters by the score.
Of caviar I've had my share, I love anchovies, too,
And way down in old Mindanao I've eaten carabao;
Of Johnny Bull's old rare roast I nearly got the gout,
And with chums at Heidelberg I dined on sauerkraut;
In China I have eaten native rice and sipped their famous teas;
In Naples I, 'long with the rest, ate macaroni and cheese;
In Cuba where all things go slow, manana's their one wish;
I dined on things that had no names, but tasted strong with fish.
In Mexico the chili burnt the coating off my tongue;
And with Irish landlord I dined on pigs quite young,
Yet you may have your dishes that is served to kings and queens,
But I am happy and contented with a dish of Army Beans.
LITTLE THINGS
Little drops of water,
Little grains of sand
Make the mighty ocean
And the desert land.
Little hours of drilling,
Little "rifle shoots"
Make efficient soldiers
Out of raw recruits.
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