The Young Vets.

A poem by A. H. Laidlaw

We all know the face of the chap who can tell
How he led the victorious van,
Through whose terrible yell all the enemy fell
Or fled from this murderous man.

We all know the pate of the chap who was late,
Too late for a wound or a scar,
A year or two late for a soldierly fate,
And twenty too late for the war.

We all know the voice of Goliah the Great,
Who never smelt powder, you know,
Who came to the field of battle too late
To give little David a show.

We all know the tale of the chap who delights
To tell all the girls he can find
Of the terrible sights, of the feuds and the fights,
That he fought in the depths of his mind.

On a Century Map, we all know the chap
Who can trace his proud place without fear,
Who claims the drum-tap found him first in the gap,
Though he skulked forty miles in the rear.

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