Wishing, Page 1 Of 2 Poem by John Bliven Morin

I’d be the bravest soldier
In the army, oh the best,
Marching proudly on parade
With medals on me chest;
But when the cannons roared
And they’re shooting everyone,
I think that I should take me kit
And up and bloody run!

The greatest surgeon I shall be.
A man of world reknown;
Saving lives and winning fame
And cheered from town to town;
But when I opened up someone
And saw what’s in their core,
I think that I should either faint
Or vomit on the floor!

An airman bold I think I’ll be,
In me aircraft, flying high;
Doing loops and barrel rolls
Across the wide blue sky;
But when the old Red Baron came
To initiate some fights,
‘Tis then, I think, that I’d recall
That I’m afraid of heights!

A captain and a privateer
Is what I’d like to be;
Seizing foreign cargoes
From ships across the sea;
But when the warships closed in fast,
And cannons blasted shot;
Oh dear, perhaps a privateer
Is what I’d rather not!

A firefighter I should be,
Rushing through the streets,
With horns a-blaring loudly;
Saving lives and other feats;
‘Twould be a great ambition,
A firefighter to aspire,
Except that I am quite afraid
Of anything like fire!