They put his
rifle back in
the depot
And gave his
uniform to
some other
man.
No more bread
crumbs in his
kit-bag
Nor lip-marks
on his
canteen.
Such was the
gust of wind
It carried him
off his feet,
Not even his
name was
remembered.
Just a couplet
he scribbled
was left
On the wall of
the mess hall:
"Death is
God's will,
But if only
there were no
parting."
-<*
