Something Else Again Part 9

When You Meet a Man from Your Own Home Town

Sing, O Muse, in the treble clef, A little song of the A. E. F., And pardon me, please, if I give vent To something akin to sentiment.

But we have our moments Over Here When we want to cry and we want to cheer; And the hurrah feeling will not down When you meet a man from your own home town.

It's many a lonesome, longsome day Since you embarked from the U. S. A., And you met some men--it's a great big war-- From towns that you never had known before; And you landed here, and your rest camp mate Was a man from some strange and distant state.

Liked him? Yes; but you wanted to see A man from the town where you used to be.

And then you went, by design or chance, All over the well-known map of France; And you yearned with a yearn that grew and grew To talk with a man from the burg you knew.

And some lugubrious morning when Your morale is batting about .110, "Where are you from?" and you make reply, And the O. D. warrior says, "So am I."

The universe wears a smiling face As you spill your talk of the old home place; You talk of the streets, and the home town jokes, And you find that you know each other's folks; And you haven't any more woes at all As you both decide that the world _is_ small-- A statement adding to its renown When you meet a man from your own home town.

You may be among the enlisted men, You may be a Lieut. or a Major-Gen.; Your home may be up in the Chilkoot Pa.s.s, In Denver, Col., or in Pittsfield, Ma.s.s.; You may have come from Chicago, Ill., Buffalo, Portland, or Louisville-- But there's nothing, I'm gambling, can keep you down, When you meet a man from your own home town.

If you want to know why I wrote this pome, Well ... I've just had a talk with a guy from home.

The Shepherd's Resolution

_If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be?_

--WITHER.

BY OUR OWN JEROME D. KERN, AUTHOR OF "YOU'RE HERE AND I'M HERE"

I don't care if a girl is fair If she doesn't seem beautiful to me, I won't waste away if she's fair as day, Or prettier than meadows in the month of May; As long as you are there for me to see, I don't care and you don't care How many others are beyond compare-- You're the only one I like to have around.

I won't mind if she's everything combined, If she doesn't seem wonderful to me, I won't fret if she's everybody's pet, Or considered by all as the one best bet; As long as you and I are only we, I don't care and you don't care How many others are beyond compare, You're the only one I like to have around.

"It Was a Famous Victory"

(1944)

It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar was at home, Sitting before his cottage door-- Like in the Southey pome-- And near him, with a magazine, Idled his grandchild, Geraldine.

"Why don't you ask me," Kaspar said To the child upon the floor, "Why don't you ask me what I did When I was in the war?

They told me that each little kid Would surely ask me what I did.

"I've had my story ready For thirty years or more."

"Don't bother, Grandpa," said the child; "I find such things a bore.

Pray leave me to my magazine,"

a.s.serted little Geraldine.

Then entered little Peterkin, To whom his gaffer said: "You'd like to hear about the war?

How I was left for dead?"

"No. And, besides," declared the youth, "How do I know you speak the truth?"

Arose that wan, embittered man, The hero of this pome, And walked, with not unsprightly step, Down to the Soldiers' Home, Where he, with seven other men, Sat swapping lies till half-past ten.

On Profiteering

Although I hate A profiteer With unabat- Ed loathing; Though I detest The price they smear On pants and vest And clothing;

Yet I admit My meed of crime, Nor do one whit Regret it; I'd triple my Price for a rhyme, If I thought I Could get it.

Despite

The terrible things that the Governor Of Kansas says alarm me; And yet somehow we won the war In spite of the Regular Army.

The things they say of the old N. G.

Are bitter and cruel and hard; And yet we walloped the enemy In spite of the National Guard.

Too late, too late, was our work begun; Too late were our forces sent; And yet we smeared the horrible Hun In spite of the President.

"What a frightful flivver this Baker is!"

Cried many a Senator; And yet we handed the Kaiser his In spite of the Sec. of War.

A sadly incompetent, sinful crew Is that of the recent fight; And yet we put it across, we do, In spite of a lot of spite.

The Return of the Soldier

Lady, when I left you Ere I sailed the sea, Bitterly bereft you Told me you would be.