LOVE POEMS, MOM POEMS and WAR POEMS

She

I’m waiting for the man I hope to wed.
I’ve never seen him - that’s the funny part.
I promised I would wear a rose of red,
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No, Bill, I’m not a-spooning out no patriotic tosh
(The cove be’ind the sandbags ain’t a death-or-glory cuss).
And though I strafes ‘em good and ‘ard I doesn’t ‘ate the Boche,
I guess they’re mostly decent, just the same as most of us.
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