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Click hereThe clement breakfast sun beams,
on your soft merino sweater
and white-flamed open mouth,
Which reminds me of the south,
where we were all thrown together,
and we'd lie half-awake at night,
re-reading every damned letter,
as a duty and as our right,
Now, not so many march as they used to,
it's all groggy morning merino taste,
and morning haste, and just mourning--
for before- when we could enjoy this pace.
The life of everyday drills ~ graduated to the nightmare of combat.