Home on Furlough.

I, a little fusilier, home on furlough;
home to rest and eat to swell
with my musket in my little pocket
and my boots treading the wet grasses.I’m back to the mud house on furlough,
to feel the fresh air in my lungs
and watch the sun go to sleep
while the moon rise to lighten the night.

I’m back to the loving town,
away from the bloody field of sorrow
where you watch your comrade fall
and smile as others sleep in slumber.


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