The farm’s a bore you’d trade for makeshift uniform

For cheek-by-jowl with Kansas shopkeeper

And German tailor’s son, for beans and corn

And reveille at dawn, pine-scented air

Youth and adventure – they go hand in hand

So long to humdrum prairie days, the heat

And bone-tired crushing boredom stifling all

the day-dreams. March with quickened pulse and joy!

Now you’re a drop in history’s rush-and-roar

Nine hundred strong, to march, to shout as one

Battalion drill and chafing haversack

So many feet to crush the tender grass

Then stretches of grey days and stifled yawns

And longing for the trumpet’s strident blast

Chill rain and mud and endless bickering

And all too soon the thrill, the rush, of war

Did you taste glory then? Or was it more

The bitter-biled adrenalin of fear?

Face ground in dust, eyes dull as slate

Sixteen today for all eternity