TO
MY SON
BOB
AT PLATTSBURGH BARRACKS
*FOREWORD*
I
Here's a pretty tale to tell
All about the beastly boche--
How the Bolsheviki fell
Out of grace and in the wash!
--How all valiant lovers love,
How all villains go to hell,
Started thither by a shove
From the youth who loved so well,
Virtue mirrored in the glass
Held by his beloved lass.