‘Dear Father,’ he wrote me from Somewhere in France,
Where he’s waiting with Pershing to lead the advance,
‘There’s little the censor permits me to tell
Save the fact that I’m here and am happy and well.
The French people cheered as we marched from our ship
At the close of a really remarkable trip;
They danced and they screamed and they shouted and ran,
And I blush as I write. I was kissed by a man!
‘I’ve seen a great deal since I bade you good-bye,
I have witnessed a battle far up in the sky;
I have heard the dull roar of a long line of guns,
And seen the destruction that’s worked by the Huns;
Some scenes I’ll remember, and some I’ll forget,
But the welcome he gave me! I’m feeling it yet.
Oh, try to imagine your boy if you can,
As he looked and he felt, being kissed by a man!
”Ah, Meestaire!’ he cried in a voice that was shrill,
And his queer little eyes with delight seemed to fill,
And before I was wise to the custom, or knew
Just what he was up to, about me he threw
His arms, and he hugged me, and then with a squeak,
He planted a chaste little kiss on each cheek.
He was stocky and strong and his whiskers were tan.
Now please keep it dark. I’ve been kissed by a man.’