Willmar tribune., 1917-11-21
ALBERT PETERSON'S
JlNcLlN6 RHYME

JlNGllN6 RHYME
Dear Mother and home:
am writing, I know triAe late,
but I have been so busy with my daily
grind that I've neglected writing, but
1 know you will not mind. When
you've read what am writing, you'll
feel whole lot better. And prom
Use that hereafter, I will write daily
letter.
Tell my friends they wouldn't know
me, since I left Lake Lillian. For
the sun has surely baked me, a most
gorgeous golden brown. Tell Dad if
he could see me, he would never cuss
me more, for oversleeping mornings,
or neglecting any chore. Tell broth
er, I've pistol and gun, a really
truly rife, that wasn't made for fun.
Tell my sweetheart that I love her,
when you see her, Mother dear. That
sleeping, drilling, working, I keep
wishing she were here. Tell sister
that thank her for the little wooden
box, the homemade biscuits and
cookies, and the pound Of butter.
Tell my friends from me, if they
want to have some fun, to join the
U. S. Army, and get himself gun.
Tell the boys out in Lake Lillian,
that Uncle Sam is needing a million
more recruits. Just tell 'em that
I'm writing, in this letter, dear to
you. So that each and everyone,
will know just what we do.
At six an, the bugle blows, the
call to rise and dress; at fifteen,
the morning run, at six-thirty a.n.,
the mess. Hot cakes and syrup, cof-
fee, ,spuds and bacon fried, with sug-
al, milk and home baked bread to
fill the space inside. At half past
eight, Fatigue call sounds, the
streets and tents are ,pliced. Then
we drill for four long hours, before
We are released. From eight thirty
am, till four thirty pm, we do our
regular drilling. Then drill again,
dear Mother, for it is drilling that
we need.
The Post Exchange supplies our
wants with almost anything. We've
a dandy club and reading room
where we can go and sing. We can
get a pass to go to town, most any,
time we wish, we've everything we
want to eat, both plain and fancy
dish. We've ball team, some box
ing gloves, a wrestling match and
scraps> we've each little army cot,
we sleep on after taps. We've mess
halls with mosquito net, shower
baths that are divine, Oh there's
nothing, Mother, which we have that
isn't extra fine. We've clothes galore
for every need, Sunday, work or
play, we've Colonel who's dandy,
and day on which they pay. We've
a hundred things: dear mother, that
1 haven't room to mention. A hundred
things, dear mother, that requires
our close attention.
We are happy and we're healthy,
and we're learning to be men. Such
a chance to get schooling, we may
never have again. Oh, I miss you,
mother darling, and Pm happy and
content, with the hours, and weeks
we're spending in the regulation tent.
Cause l know I need the schooling,
l may never get again, the school
that takes the weaklings, and makes
them into men.
Now, Mother dear, I've written you
a letter that is long; "E&ciency's"
the title Of our regimental song. We
are waiting now and ready for the
day We'll take a chance, with our bro
theirs and the others on the plains oe
sunny France. We are waiting for
the order that will bid US grab our
guns, for the day we'll lick the Kais-
er and his fighting German huns.
Now I'll close with love and kisses,
and a heart that's full of joy, and
sign my name as always your son,
Private Albert Peterson,
Co. D, 351st Inf, Camp Dodge, Ia.