Fleurette

(The Wounded Canadian Speaks)      My leg? It's off at the knee.      Do I miss it? Well, some. You see      I've had it since I was born;      And lately a devilish corn.      (I rather chuckle with glee      To think how I've fooled that corn.)      But I'll hobble around all right.      It isn't that, it's my face.      Oh I know I'm a hideous sight,      Hardly a thing in place;      Sort of gargoyle, you'd say.      Nurse won't give me a glass,      But I see the folks as they pass      Shudder and turn away;      Turn away in distress . . .      Mirror enough, I guess.      I'm gay! You bet I am gay;      But I wasn't a while ago.      If you'd seen me even to-day,      The darndest picture of woe,      With this Caliban mug of mine,      So ravaged and raw and red,      Turned to the wall - in fine,      Wishing that I was dead. . . .      What has happened since then,      Since I lay with my face to the wall,      The most despairing of men?      Listen! I'll tell you all.      That 'poilu' across the way,      With the shrapnel wound in his head,      Has a sister: she came to-day      To sit awhile by his bed.      All morning I heard him fret:      "Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?"      Then sudden, a joyous cry;      The tripping of little feet;      The softest, tenderest sigh;      A voice so fresh and sweet;      Clear as a silver bell,      Fresh as the morning dews:      "C'est toi, c'est toi, Marcel!      Mon frre, comme je suis heureuse!"      So over the blanket's rim      I raised my terrible face,      And I saw - how I envied him!      A girl of such delicate grace;      Sixteen, all laughter and love;      As gay as a linnet, and yet      As tenderly sweet as a dove;      Half woman, half child - Fleurette.      Then I turned to the wall again.      (I was awfully blue, you see),      And I thought with a bitter pain:      "Such visions are not for me."      So there like a log I lay,      All hidden, I thought, from view,      When sudden I heard her say:      "Ah! Who is that 'malheureux'?"      Then briefly I heard him tell      (However he came to know)      How I'd smothered a bomb that fell      Into the trench, and so      None of my men were hit,      Though it busted me up a bit.      Well, I didn't quiver an eye,      And he chattered and there she sat;      And I fancied I heard her sigh -      But I wouldn't just swear to that.      And maybe she wasn't so bright,      Though she talked in a merry strain,      And I closed my eyes ever so tight,      Yet I saw her ever so plain:      Her dear little tilted nose,      Her delicate, dimpled chin,      Her mouth like a budding rose,      And the glistening pearls within;      Her eyes like the violet:      Such a rare little queen - Fleurette.      And at last when she rose to go,      The light was a little dim,      And I ventured to peep, and so      I saw her, graceful and slim,      And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh      How I envied and envied him!      So when she was gone I said      In rather a dreary voice      To him of the opposite bed:      "Ah, friend, how you must rejoice!      But me, I'm a thing of dread.      For me nevermore the bliss,      The thrill of a woman's kiss."      Then I stopped, for lo! she was there,      And a great light shone in her eyes.      And me! I could only stare,      I was taken so by surprise,      When gently she bent her head:      "May I kiss you, Sergeant?" she said.      Then she kissed my burning lips      With her mouth like a scented flower,      And I thrilled to the finger-tips,      And I hadn't even the power      To say: "God bless you, dear!"      And I felt such a precious tear      Fall on my withered cheek,      And darn it! I couldn't speak.      And so she went sadly away,      And I knew that my eyes were wet.      Ah, not to my dying day      Will I forget, forget!      Can you wonder now I am gay?      God bless her, that little Fleurette!