An Ocean Of Love (By Gunner G. Burley) Poem by Andrew Wright

There's a constant and careful collecting,
Of strong brown paper and twine,
There's a special pen nib for directing,
Free flowing and not over fine,
There's a far sighted skill in the packing,
For the problems increasingly great,
Not to leave out a thing that he is lacking,
And still keep an eye on the weight.

There's a soreness of feminine fingers,
For the knots must be terribly tight,
There's a look that half nervously lingers,
For fear the address is not right.
There's a trust that the waves will be tender,
That no submarine lurks near the coast,
And a wish in the soul of the sender,
That she too might go parcel post.

All soldiers whose comforts are meagre,
When the corporal sings out your name,
When your hands are boyishly eager,
To seize and examine your claim,
Do you guess as the paper you're tearing,
As the gifts in your pocket you shove,
That each party from Blighty is bearing,
An Ocean of Love.