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Milty's Mag, December 1944
5
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MILTY'S MAG Page five ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ At that particular moment in the spaship [spaceship] that carried him from school to war, there was peace between himself and the universe. For an instance he was at equilibrium. The thought insinuated itself into his mind: When would his balance topple? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Poet's Cornered (Apologies to Yank ..... and to my readers.) Explanation: After I had read thirty pages of Emil Ludwig's biography of Goethe, inspiration struck me a deadly blow. As a result I found that with no previous experience whatsoever, I could write poetry as badly as the other FAPs. First Sergeant's Lullaby Slumber, soldier, sweetly slumber, For this shell has not your number. Sleep this day in quiet and peace, Comes morn, I give you kitchen police. Chorus: Sleep, sleep, gently sleep, Like the motion of a jeep, Floors you do not have to sweep Down within your foxhole deep. Lay your head upon that mud, Do not think of sweat and blood. Dream, instead, of some fair wench, For soon you dig a large slit trench. Chorus: Peace, peace, heavenly peace. In this home you need no lease, Trousers need not bear a crease, You may give yourself at ease.
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MILTY'S MAG Page five ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ At that particular moment in the spaship [spaceship] that carried him from school to war, there was peace between himself and the universe. For an instance he was at equilibrium. The thought insinuated itself into his mind: When would his balance topple? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Poet's Cornered (Apologies to Yank ..... and to my readers.) Explanation: After I had read thirty pages of Emil Ludwig's biography of Goethe, inspiration struck me a deadly blow. As a result I found that with no previous experience whatsoever, I could write poetry as badly as the other FAPs. First Sergeant's Lullaby Slumber, soldier, sweetly slumber, For this shell has not your number. Sleep this day in quiet and peace, Comes morn, I give you kitchen police. Chorus: Sleep, sleep, gently sleep, Like the motion of a jeep, Floors you do not have to sweep Down within your foxhole deep. Lay your head upon that mud, Do not think of sweat and blood. Dream, instead, of some fair wench, For soon you dig a large slit trench. Chorus: Peace, peace, heavenly peace. In this home you need no lease, Trousers need not bear a crease, You may give yourself at ease.
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