Classic Poem

Oh , 'twas back in the fall of '17 that I went as a volunteer,
For the war was raging across the sea and the war was raging here.
And every lad had a khaki suit and a sweater and helmet knit,
And a shiny mirror made of tin and a khaki comfort kit.
And every lad had a luminous watch and a pair of Munson shoes,
And the Poems of Robert Service bound in the leather that's known as ooze.

Oh, some may call it a glorious war, but we soldiers knew 'twas hell,
We were stationed up at Ithaca at a place that they call Cornell;
And they crammed us full of all sorts of things, and they drilled us from morn till night,
And we learned to master the Lewis gun and the Theory of Flight.
And as we lay at the close of day on our cots when our work was through.
Some guy from a bunk near mine would spout " The Shooting of Dan Megrew. "

Yet they drilled us hard and they crammed us worse till our heads they were bursting full,
And they rode us too, and the worst of the crew was a Lieut. known as Franklin Bull.
No, I never harked to the cannon's roar nor the shriek of a shrapnel shell,
And my only Huns were the waiter men at the Ithaca Hotel.
Yet I shudder to think of the horrors of war that I suffered at Cornell U.,
As I listened in bed through the silent night to " The Shooting of Dan Megrew. "

A fellow named Charlie Hoffman used to recite it each night at mess,
I remember Thanksgiving dinner, when he performed it with great success.
Dick Eustis and young John Meany, and — need I name any more? —
Why, Henry Churchill did it, and that warrior, Jack Hoare.

Now this cruel war has ended just as Milne once said it would,
And I'm through with the horrors of warfare; I'm a veteran now for good.
And I'm done with the well-known army, henceforth and forevermore,
And they'll have to catch me first before I'll sign for another war.
For my soul is wearing a Service stripe for the suffering I've been through,
From the Poems of Robert Service and " The Shooting of Dan Megrew. "