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frontier Ballads
"George Kent!" A velvet album from his folks in Baltimore. And how we cheered the pictures from the girls in every State To their sweethearts in the army, on Christmas, '68!
"Fred Gray!" A sudden silence fell on that noisy place. Poor Fred lay in the foot-hills with the snow above his face. But his bunkie loosed the package of its wrappings, one by one — 'Twas a Bible from his mother, with a blessing for her son. And the hardest heart was softened as we thought of our dead
mate And that lonely, stricken mother on Christmas, '68.
But the Sergeant raised the shadow as he shouted, "Jerry Clegg!"
In hospital was Jerry with a bullet through his leg —
The gayest lad in Buford —and we plunged out through the drifts
To take his package to him, forgetting our own gifts.
'Twas a green silk vest from Dublin, and, bedad, it sure was
great To hear old Jerry chuckle on Christmas, '68!
Thus it went, with joke and banter—what a romping time we
had! The redskins in the coulees must have thought we'd gone clean
mad, For they started popping bullets at the sentinels on guard And we had to stop our nonsense, and sortie good and hard. But that was daily routine — always got it, soon or late — If we hadn't, we'd felt lonely on Christmas, '68.
So I'm here to tell you rookies who are kicking on your lot That you don't know service hardship as we got it, served up hot, For the Philippines are easy and Hawaii is a snap When compared to fighting Injins over all the Western map, And, next time you start to growling when your mail's an hour
late, Just recall the boys at Buford, on Christmas, '68! |
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