A Soldier Speaks

rE verses below were written by a Serviceman in New Guinea. (To the “bellyachers” at home) So you’re sick of the way the country’s run, And you’re sick of the way the ration ing’s done, And you’re sick of standing around in line, You’re sick, you say — well, that’s just fine.

So am I sick of the sun and the heat, And I’m sick of the feel of my aching feet; And I’m sick of the siren’s wailing shriek, And I’m sick of the groans of the wounded and weak.

I’m sick of the slaughter — l’m sick to my soul — I’m sick of playing a killer’s role; And I’m. sick of the blood and of death and the smell, And I’m even sick of myself as well.

But I’m sicker still of a tyrant’s rule, And conquered lands where the wild beasts drool; And I’m cured damn quick when I think of the day, When all this hell will be out of the way.

When none of this mess will have been in vain, And the lights of the world will blaze again; And the Axis flags will be dipped and furled, And God looks down on a peaceful world.

C. L. Brown.