Untitled (By M. Pearlman At Andreashof Feb 1944) Poem by Andrew Wright

As I sit here in this lonely cell,
Gazing out through the bars,
It seems to me that I do well,
In a land remote as Mars.

There's little to eat, little to drink,
None to talk to and nothing to do,
But sit here and think,
Of the damsel I once did woo.

‘Twas shortly after I met her,
We both were at a dance,
She asked me, "Was it true" she'd heard,
That I was going to France.

I said I did not know as yet,
The stage for war had not been set,
And asked her if she would consent,
To be my partner for life content.

She said, Mother says there's time in plenty,
You must wait till I am one and twenty,
That will be in the Summertime,
And then our wedding bells will chime.

Nevertheless the call did come,
Across the seas the boys did go,
To meet and tame the wicked Hun,
And many another unseen foe.

‘Twas our luck to be outnumbered,
And with the French to be encumbered,
Many did fall on Valerie's sands,
The remainder into enemy hands.

And so to the prison camps we did travel,
Through miles and miles of dust and gravel,
The sun beat down and made me seek,
Precious water in every hole and creek.

And from my camp to her I wrote,
To tell her I was safe and sound,
We were just waiting for the boat,
We'd catch it ere the year was round.

It's three long years since that did happen,
No word from her did I receive,
I've gave up hope, I was caught napping,
An adventuress was my Eve.

Since then I've heard from friends at home,
That she is quite now happily wed,
He was a stranger from over the foam,
They say he was very easily led.

So now you know my tale of woe,
Never court a maid,
Who bids you wait,
Just say it is a damned bad show.