In your pretty little garden Darn the idioms that dance On your tongue so sweet and rapid, Ah, they hold me in a trance! Though I stutter an’ I stammer, In your garden, on the bench, Yet my heart is writin’ poems When I talk to you in French. CHARLES DIVINE, Pvt. IF I WERE A COOTIE If I were a cootie (pro-Ally, of course), I’d hie me away on a Potsdam-bound horse, And I’d seek out the Kaiser (the war-maddened cuss), And I’d be a bum cootie if I didn’t muss His Imperial hide from his head to his toe! He might hide from the bombs, but I’d give him no show! If I were a cootie, I’d deem it my duty To thus treat the Kaiser, Ah, oui. And after I’d thoroughly covered Bill’s area, I’d hasten away to the Prince of Bavaria, And chew him a round or two—under the Linden— Then pack up my things and set out for old Hinden— (Old Hindy’s the guy always talking ’bout strafing)— To think what I’d do to that bird sets me laughing! If I were a cootie, I’d deem it my duty To thus threat the Prince and old Hindy, Ah, oui! I’d ne’er get fed up on Imperial gore— I might rest for a while, but I’d go back for more. I’d spend a few days with that Austrian crew, And young Carl himself I’d put down for a chew; There’d be no meatless days for this cootie, I know, They’d all get one jolly good strafing or so. For if I were a cootie, I’d deem it my duty To thus treat their damnships, Ah, oui! A. P. BOWEN, Sgt., R.T.O. THE LILY The lily sadly drooped her head; “My France is bowed in grief!” she said. “Must I live on to satisfy The conquering Teuton’s lustful eye? Lord, let me wither! Let me die!” The lily proudly raised her head; “My France is free once more!” she said. “Free from dark and blood-smirched gloom! The ruthless Hun has met his doom. Lord, let me gladden! Let me bloom!” HOWARD J. GREEN, Corp., Inf. ME,—AN’ WAR GOIN’ ON!