Part 1 — THEY BELIEVE IN US BACK HOME
Reading edition
"Lots of love to our lieutenant," Writes my mother; And the letters from my brother Contain facetious remarks about "majors" . . . He calls me "The Colonel" and laughs. . . . But they mean it seriously, Those back home. They can't seem to realize How shaky is our berth up here . . . How every "Retreat" means a brief respite; Each "Reveille" the dread Of some more foolish blunder . . . Some new bone-play. And yet sometimes our timid vanity Blossoms under the warmth of their regard; Our hopes take strength from their confidence in us. There came a blue envelope in the mail today. A square envelope delicately scented with myrrh. . . . And she ended with "Adieu, cher Capitaine." That very morning I started even our sphinx-faced commander By bawling out: "Right dress—MARCH!" "Adieu, cher Capitaine," She had written, And I can see the flecks of soft star dust in her eyes As she thought it. Bitterly I swore at my luck . . . Then Sent her that photograph taken of me On July Fourth. . . . Of me astride the horse of an officer. I scrawled a jest under it. But what else could I do?
