Memories of "Over There"
Sometimes when I am dreaming,
My thoughts drift to and fro;
O'er the distant fields of Flanders
Where the crimson poppies blow.
Again I trudge the highways
In the dusk of eventide;
'Neath a sky of rose and purple,
With my dream pals by my side.
The boys are softly singing,
As they trudge the trail with me :
"Oh, the old gray mare, she
Ain't what she used to be!"
I see the storm clouds gather,
The last dim shadows go;
And the faces, oh, the faces,
In the star-shell's afterglow.