Ada Bartrick Baker (1854– )

SO I’m shelved, you see, old fellow; and it seems a trifle rough,

When you’re longing to be at them with the rest;

But I don’t lie here and mope; for the doctors say they hope

I shall soon be fit and lively as the best.

And I had my glorious innings! Oh! we gave them piping hot

Such a supper they’re not likely to digest;

And d’ye think I cared a rap, though I’m only a poor chap,

For the bullet that they landed in my chest?

Tell ’em all at home I’m waited on as if I was a lord,

And the nurses are just angels—bar the wings:

When you’re lying here so weak that you hardly care to speak,

Oh! the comfort that a woman’s tending brings.

Finished by the Nurse.

He was doing well, poor fellow! though the shot had touched his lung,

And the doctors did their best to pull him through.

I was with him when he died. The two locks of hair inside,

With his love, are for his mother, and for you.