IN THE FRONT-LINE DESKS LIEUT. ELMER FRANKLIN POWELL

I TRIED to be a doughboy, but they said my feet were flat And I’d surely never stand the awful strain. No chance to even argue that I’d like to bet my hat I could out walk any tar-heel in the train. “Awful sorry, but it’s useless,” was the doctor’s mournful wail. “Your eyesight quite unfits you for the guns.” Uselessly I tried to tell him that at dropping leaden hail I could surely decimate a pack of Huns. Then I hoped for aviation, for my nerve is still in place, But there wasn’t even half a chance for that. A stocky young lieutenant said, “You’ll never hold the pace, For you’ve got a jumpy eyebrow.” Think o’ that! So they went and made me captain in the Quartermaster Corps, Where I juggle lists of beans the livelong day. Trying hard to grin and bear it as the boys march off to war While I sit and figure up their blasted pay.