THE GERM

I TOOK to khaki at a word,

And fashioned dreams of wonder.

I rode the great sea like a bird,

Chock full of blood and thunder.

I saw myself upon the field

Of battle, framed in glory,

Compelling stubborn foes to yield

As captives to my sword and shield —

This is another story.

We sat about in sun and sand,

We broke old Cairo's images,

Met here and there a swarthy band

In little, friendly scrimmages,

And here it is I start to kid

No Moslem born can hit me.

The Germ then that had long laid hid

Came out of Pharaoh's pyramid,

And covertly he bit me.

For some few days I wore an air

Of pensive introspection,

And then I curled down anywhere.

They whispered of infection,

And hoist me on two sticks as though

I bore the leper's label,

And took me where, all in a row

Of tiny beds, two score or so

Were raising second Babel;

But no man talked to any one.

And no bloke knew another.

This soldier raved about his gun,

And that one of his mother.

They were the victims of the Germ,

The imp that Satan pricks in,

First cousin to the Coffin Worm,

Whose uncomputed legions squirm

Some foul, atomic Styx in.

The Germ rides with the plunging shell,

Or on the belts that fret you,

Or in a speck of dust may well

One thousand years to get you;

Well ambushed in a tunic fold

He waits his special mission,

And never lad so big and bold

But turns to water in his hold

And dribbles to perdition.

Where is war's pomp and circumstance,

The gauds in which we prank it?

Germ ends for us our fine romance,

Wrapped in a dingy blanket.

We set out braggartly in mirth,

World's bravest men and tallest,

To do the mightiest thing on earth,

And here we're lying, nothing worth,

Succumbent to the smallest!