(As the realistic young soldier sees it)

We're nothing but average young lads.

Just out of school, and without any jobs.

So rather than sponge from our Dads,

We became either soldiers or gobs.

Some joined just for the traveling.

Others wanted to learn a trade.

Thus we tried our own way of unraveling,

The problems depression has made.

After one hitch in the army,

We'll go back to civilian life.

We'll boast of seeing Hawaii,

And plunge anew into the strife.

At least, our first impression was that,

Now it looks much different for

Once again Europe's entered the combat,

And soon we'll be fighting their war.

(That's what the old-timers are saying)

Oh God! That the things I've planned,

Must remain undone, while I'm dying,

Far from home in some foreign land.

We'll be sent overseas,

To be killed off like fleas,

That some pot-bellied beg-shot may glut

His purse, and stuff his vast gut

With rich food, while America's youth bears the brut.

Editorial Department
THE AMERICAN MAGAZINE

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NEW YORK

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