Rhymes of a Red Cross Man

<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"></SPAN></p> <br/> <h2> Grand-père </h2> <p>And so when he reached my bed<br/> The General made a stand:<br/> "My brave young fellow," he said,<br/> "I would shake your hand."<br/> <br/> So I lifted my arm, the right,<br/> With never a hand at all;<br/> Only a stump, a sight<br/> Fit to appal.<br/> <br/> "Well, well. Now that's too bad!<br/> That's sorrowful luck," he said;<br/> "But there! You give me, my lad,<br/> The left instead."<br/> <br/> So from under the blanket's rim<br/> I raised and showed him the other,<br/> A snag as ugly and grim<br/> As its ugly brother.<br/> <br/> He looked at each jagged wrist;<br/> He looked, but he did not speak;<br/> And then he bent down and kissed<br/> Me on either cheek.<br/> <br/> You wonder now I don't mind<br/> I hadn't a hand to offer. . . .<br/> They tell me (you know I'm blind)<br/> <i>'TWAS GRAND-PEÈRE JOFFRE.</i><br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />