Edmund Vance Cooke
Edmund Vance Cooke Poems
|1.||A Courtin' Call||10/5/2010|
|4.||Requiescat In Pace||10/5/2010|
|8.||Don'T Take Your Troubles To Bed||10/5/2010|
|9.||Laugh A Little Bit||10/5/2010|
|10.||Moo Cow Moo||10/5/2010|
|11.||How Did You Die?||10/5/2010|
We called him 'Rags.' He was just a cur,
But twice, on the Western Line,
That little old bunch of faithful fur
Had offered his life for mine.
And all that he got was bones and bread,
Or the leavings of soldier grub,
But he'd give his heart for a pat on the head,
Or a friendly tickle and rub
And Rags got home with the regiment,
And then, in the breaking away-
Well, whether they stole him, or whether he went,
I am not prepared to say.
But we mustered out, some to beer and gruel
And some to sherry and shad,
And I went back to the Sawbones ...