In hospital was Jerry with a bullet through his leg—
The gayest lad in Buford—-and we plunged out through the drifts
To take his package to him, forgetting our own gifts.
'Twas a green silk vest from Dublin, and, bedad, it sure was great
To hear old Jerry chuckle on Christmas, '68!
Thus it went, with joke and banter—what a romping time we had!
The redskins in the coulées must have thought we'd gone clean mad,
For they started popping bullets at the sentinels on guard
And we had to stop our nonsense, and sortie good and hard.
But that was daily routine—always got it, soon or late—