A GARRISON CHRISTMAS
NOW, all you homesick rookies who are blue on Christmas Day,
Though bunked in pleasant barracks, come listen to my lay!
When you're stationed snug at Flagler, Leavenworth, or Hampton Roads,
Where the postman three times daily brings your Christmas cheer in loads,
What ground have you for kicking? You would glorify your fate
If you'd been in old Fort Buford on Christmas, '68!
Just a bunch of squatty cabins built of cottonwoods and clay
With roofs of sod and sedge-grass and windows stuffed with hay,
And when the winter blizzards came howling overhead