The Aftermath
Although my blood I’ve shed In war’s red wrath, Oh how I darkly dread Its aftermath! Oh how I fear the day Of my release, When I must face the fray Of phoney peace!
Young Fellow My Lad
“Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad, On this glittering morn of May?” “I’m going to join the Colours, Dad; They’re looking for men, they say.” “But you’re only a boy, Young Fellow
A Song Of Winter Weather
It isn’t the foe that we fear; It isn’t the bullets that whine; It isn’t the business career Of a shell, or the bust of a mine; It isn’t the snipers who seek To
The Man From Eldorado
He’s the man from Eldorado, and he’s just arrived in town, In moccasins and oily buckskin shirt. He’s gaunt as any Indian, and pretty nigh as brown; He’s greasy, and he smells of sweat
Wallflower
Till midnight her needle she plied To finish her pretty pink dress; “Oh, bless you, my darling,” she sighed; “I hope you will be a success.” As she entered the Oddfellow’s Hall With the
Growing Old
Somehow the skies don’t seem so blue As they used to be; Blossoms have a fainter hue, Grass less green I see. There’s no twinkle in a star, Dawns don’t seem so gold. .
Alpine Holiday
He took the grade in second – quite a climb, Dizzy and dangerous, yet how sublime! The road went up and up; it curved around The mountain and the gorge grew more profound. He
Old Sweethearts
Oh Maggie, do you mind the day We went to school together, And as we stoppit by the way I rolled you in the heather? My! but you were the bonny lass And we
My Friends
The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief; And I lay there in the bunk between, ailing beyond belief; A weary armful of skin and bone, wasted with pain and
At Thirty-Five
Three score and ten, the psalmist saith, And half my course is well-nigh run; I’ve had my flout at dusty death, I’ve had my whack of feast and fun. I’ve mocked at those who
My Book
Before I drink myself to death, God, let me finish up my Book! At night, I fear, I fight for breath, And wake up whiter than a spook; And crawl off to a bistro
The Leaning Tower
Having an aged hate of height I forced myself to climb the Tower, Yet paused at every second flight Because my heart is scant of power; Then when I gained the sloping summit Earthward
Flight
On silver sand where ripples curled I counted sea-gulls seven; Shy, secret screened from all the world, And innocent as heaven. They did not of my nearness know, For dawn was barely bright, And
The Squaw Man
The cow-moose comes to water, and the beaver’s overbold, The net is in the eddy of the stream; The teepee stars the vivid sward with russet, red and gold, And in the velvet gloom
Fortitude
Time, the Jester, jeers at you; Your life’s a fleeting breath; Your birthday’s flimsy I. O. U. To that old devil, Death. And though to glory you attain, Or be to beauty born, Your