Saturday, May 25, 2013
I’m getting bumped and jostled as I try to write,
I apologize dear Mother if my penmanship’s a fright.
The trench is getting crowded; soon it will be time for us to go.
Every man will cheer and go over the top, when we hear the whistle blow.
My Buddy Joe’s foot fungus is healing up just fine.
We got to spend five days in Paris. Dearest Mother … I drank some wine.
I hear the distant rumble of thunder, as the Sergeant tightens up our ranks.
The men just loved your cookies. They all send along their thanks.
I have so much to tell you, but precious time is fleeting.
The Krauts are pretty restless, but we’ll give them quite a beating.
I have to put this away now. It’s time for us to join the fight.
I love you dearest Mother. I promise, I’ll finish writing this tonight.
This is all I have of my son Johnny. He’s buried near the Somme.
Before they buried my dear Johnny they found this … his last letter home.