Baggage

Three girls who still have something of the grace
Of fleeting girlishness in form and face,
Tricked out in all their fripperies await
The first three comers through the barrack-gate.

They await the first three comers, any three,
Smart, sullen, loutish, swaggering or brave —
Soldiers who'll soon forget them for the grave —
Lovers whom they'll forget as easily
As they've forgotten last year's finery.
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