But he didn't make a song about it.
Last three weeks he'd never been dry;
A sniper had shot him through the thigh;
But his wound had healed, he was right as rain
And anxious to get to the Front again.
So there he stood, erect, serene,
Unshaken by all he had suffered and seen,
And ready once more at his Country's call
To leave his wife, his home, his all.
And I, as I thought of what he had done,