Homing pigeons get sent out.
Dogs get scent about.
How is it back there?
I’m thinking of deserting as a dare.
I’ve been given my marching orders
And I’m marching tomorrow.
Must say there’s too much mud to see any borders.
Have I lent myself to a medal I’ll ever even borrow?
That’s it from me, darling.
Your letters keep me going.
When we get a fighting chance
Our eyes might meet over a million-to-one glance.