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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508332" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Fleurette</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">(The Wounded Canadian Speaks)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My leg? It's off at the knee.<br>Do I miss it? Well, some. You see<br> I've had it since I was born;<br> And lately a devilish corn.<br>(I rather chuckle with glee<br> To think how I've fooled that corn.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I'll hobble around all right.<br> It isn't that, it's my face.<br>Oh I know I'm a hideous sight,<br> Hardly a thing in place;<br>Sort of gargoyle, you'd say.<br> Nurse won't give me a glass,<br> But I see the folks as they pass<br>Shudder and turn away;<br> Turn away in distress . . .<br> Mirror enough, I guess.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm gay! You bet I AM gay;<br> But I wasn't a while ago.<br>If you'd seen me even to-day,<br> The darndest picture of woe,<br>With this Caliban mug of mine,<br> So ravaged and raw and red,<br>Turned to the wall -- in fine,<br> Wishing that I was dead. . . .<br>What has happened since then,<br> Since I lay with my face to the wall,<br>The most despairing of men?<br> Listen! I'll tell you all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That poilu across the way,<br> With the shrapnel wound in his head,<br>Has a sister: she came to-day<br> To sit awhile by his bed.<br>All morning I heard him fret:<br> &quot;Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then sudden, a joyous cry;<br> The tripping of little feet,<br>The softest, tenderest sigh,<br> A voice so fresh and sweet;<br>Clear as a silver bell,<br> Fresh as the morning dews:<br>&quot;C'est toi, c'est toi, Marcel!<br> Mon fr&egrave;re, comme je suis heureuse!&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So over the blanket's rim<br> I raised my terrible face,<br>And I saw -- how I envied him!<br> A girl of such delicate grace;<br>Sixteen, all laughter and love;<br> As gay as a linnet, and yet<br>As tenderly sweet as a dove;<br> Half woman, half child -- Fleurette.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I turned to the wall again.<br> (I was awfully blue, you see),<br>And I thought with a bitter pain:<br> &quot;Such visions are not for me.&quot;<br>So there like a log I lay,<br> All hidden, I thought, from view,<br>When sudden I heard her say:<br> &quot;Ah! Who is that malheureux?&quot;<br>Then briefly I heard him tell<br> (However he came to know)<br>How I'd smothered a bomb that fell<br> Into the trench, and so<br>None of my men were hit,<br> Though it busted me up a bit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, I didn't quiver an eye,<br> And he chattered and there she sat;<br>And I fancied I heard her sigh --<br> But I wouldn't just swear to that.<br>And maybe she wasn't so bright,<br> Though she talked in a merry strain,<br>And I closed my eyes ever so tight,<br> Yet I saw her ever so plain:<br>Her dear little tilted nose,<br> Her delicate, dimpled chin,<br>Her mouth like a budding rose,<br> And the glistening pearls within;<br>Her eyes like the violet:<br>Such a rare little queen -- Fleurette.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And at last when she rose to go,<br> The light was a little dim,<br>And I ventured to peep, and so<br> I saw her, graceful and slim,<br>And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh<br> How I envied and envied him!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So when she was gone I said<br> In rather a dreary voice<br>To him of the opposite bed:<br> &quot;Ah, friend, how you must rejoice!<br>But me, I'm a thing of dread.<br> For me nevermore the bliss,<br> The thrill of a woman's kiss.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then I stopped, for lo! she was there,<br> And a great light shone in her eyes;<br>And me! I could only stare,<br> I was taken so by surprise,<br>When gently she bent her head:<br> &quot;May I kiss you, Sergeant?&quot; she said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then she kissed my burning lips<br> With her mouth like a scented flower,<br>And I thrilled to the finger-tips,<br> And I hadn't even the power<br>To say: &quot;God bless you, dear!&quot;<br>And I felt such a precious tear<br> Fall on my withered cheek,<br> And darn it! I couldn't speak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so she went sadly away,<br> And I knew that my eyes were wet.<br>Ah, not to my dying day<br> Will I forget, forget!<br>Can you wonder now I am gay?<br> God bless her, that little Fleurette!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508332" data-title="Fleurette de Robert William Service" data-description="(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 al..."></div>
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