Ive rote a pome.  I sent it to the Divisun paper.  They wouldnt print it cause they said it was so real that it might depres the men.  I guess they was right cause I read it to the fellos in the tent an it seemed to depres them awful.  Im ritin it to you.  Its about the war.  Youll probably notice that yourself if you read it careful.  Here it is.

     I

     Here the thunder of the guns
     Smashin down the German Huns
     An the sticky pools of gory blood
     Soakin up the oozie sod
     The rushin, roarin, shreekin boom
     Of bullets crashin thru the gloom

     II

     Listen to those grate bums bust
     On the quiverin Hunnish crust
     Listen to the shreekin, moanin
     Swearin, yellin, gruntin, groanin
     That comes to us across the trenches
     All mixed up with grusome stenches

     III

     Biff, an from there hellish lare
     The shreeks of Germans rent the air. 
     Bloody lims lie on the ground. 
     Bits of Huns go flyin round. 
     Bang!  And through the cannons roar
     Is plainly herd the splashin gore.

     IV

     But this cannot go on for long,
     Cause Uncle Sam is comin strong. 
     An when we charge the German line
     We’ll chuck the dam thing in the Rine. 
     An blood an slauter, rape an gore
     In Bel Le France will rain no more.

Aint that terrible, Mable?  I read it to one fello an he said it made him absolutely sick.  He said he didn’t see how I could rite it without gettin sick myself.  Just between me an you Mable I did come pretty near being once or twice when I was ritin it.

[Illustration:  “IF I CATCH ONE OF THOSE AILIN ENEMIES WINDIN UP YOUR VICTROLA”]

Most of all thats confidential but I dont care if you read it to some of your friends just to give em a good idea of what war is.  Some of the things aint very nice of course.  If your ritin big stuff though you got to put in everything that comes into your head, or else you lose the punch.  I think the ends the best.  A lot of fellos has said that.  We ought to have more of that.  It gets the slackers.

The Rine is a German river where they make wine near Berlin, Mable.

You keep menshuning a fello named Broggins in your letters.  Now I aint got a spark of jelusy in my nature.  Big.  Thats me all over, Mable.  But I warn you frankly.  If I ever catch one of those ailin enemies windin up your victrola Ill kick him out of the house.  Thats only fair.  It isn’t that I care a snap.  Theres plenty of girls waitin for me.  Its just the principul of the thing.

Dont think for a minit that I care.  I just menshun it cause I couldnt think of nothin else to say.

     Yours till you here otherwise,
          Bill.

Pom de mon oie:

You say that like oie yoy in Yiddish.  It means apple of my eye.  I never saw an apple in nobodys eye, Mable, but I guess thats some French custom.