War Rhymes by Wayfarer Part 14

[Footnote 2: Gott Strafe England!]

FRITZ PHILOSOPHIZES

Since I'm held in his hospital up, Mine poor back full mit shrapnel und lead Ven I tink of der Kaiser und Krupp, Dere's a ting dat von't come troo mine head.

Vot already I'm tinking aboudt, To pelieve in mine heart I can't yet, But de more dat I knows I find oudt Vy dose Englishmans frightened don't get.

Ve haf guns dat vill shoot forty miles, Dat de fort und de city desthroys; Ve haf Zepps. of de latest new shtyles; Ve haf millions of men und more poys; Ve haf hundreds of unterseeboots Dat all s.h.i.+ps from de ocean vill drive, Und ve kills, und ve burns, and ve shoots Till dere von't pe no English alive.

But for none of dese tings vill dey shcare It's deir nerve (dat's, I tink, vat they call), Ven ve tink ve haf licked dem, I shwear Dat dose English shoost laugh und play ball.

But ven Shermans get oudt from de trench, Den ve crawl avay somewhere to shmoke, Mit some schooners de beeg thirst to quench, For already our hearts vas near proke.

Ven dose English come on mit a run, Den deir officers lead all de vay; But us Shermans get chained to de gun, Vile de boss in some safe blace vill shtay, Maype dat's vy ve gets de cold feet, Und dose English don't scare vort a cent; For a private vil nefer redreat From de blace vere his leader first vent.

FRITZ WRITES TO HIS FRAU

Dear Katrina--Dis letter I write From von hospital, somevere in France, For I get so proke oop in de fight Dat dis maype vill be mine last chance.

Vell, I hold von whole trench py mineself, Mit some poys dat shoost come to de front; Britty soon dey get laid on de shelf, Den your Fritz have to do be beeg shtunt.

Ven I shoot all dose English and French, Den already I tinks I vill shmoke, Den I hunts von safe blace in de trench, Vere de rain mit de ground doesn't soak.

Soon I vake mit a punch from a gun, Und I hear von Canadian say: "Come mit me, you darned shleepy old Hun,"

Den he shteal mine seegars all avay.

Den de next ting I know I am here, For already de vorld had turned plack; Dat Canadian certain vos queer, For he carry me in on his back.

From mine preast so mooch hardvare got oudt Britty soon I can shtart von shmall shtore; If dere's any old junk mans aboudt Dey might call at dis hospital door.

Now Katrina don't vorry some more, Keep de grubs from de cabbage avay, Und pe sure dat you lock oop de door, Ven alone in de house you must shtay.

Put some flowers on leetle Karl's grave; All de time now I'm glad he is dead; Vot's de use to grow oop shtrong und prave, Only shoost to get shot troo de head?

Mine truly, Fritz.

KATRINA REPLIES TO FRITZ

Mine dear Fritz: It shoost makes me feel plue Ven I get me dat letter you write, For already mine fears haf come true Dat you maype get hurt in dis fight, Vot's de use so you make de beeg splash, Und you hold de whole trench py your self?

Dat don't put no more meat in mine hash Und not any more pread on mine shelf.

Do you tink dat der Kaiser vill care?

If he gifs you von cheap iron cross, Ven I lose mine own Fritz I can't shpare, Vot vill dat do to make oop mine loss?

Britty soon all de men haf gone oudt, Und von't maype come back any more; Dere's shoost left yet old Hans, mit de goudt, Und de Duffledorf poy at de shtore.

You vill now shtay von prisoner yet, Till already de var is all done, But perhaps dat's more safer, you pet, Dan to shtand in de front of de gun.

Dere's shoost von ting I tell you; bevare Of dose nurse mit de s.h.i.+ning plack eyes, If dey got some pink cheeks, und brown hair, Your Katrina is double deir size.

Vot you tink, Fritz? Der Kaiser's men come, Und de cherries all pick from de trees, Den dey take all mine apples and plum, Und mine carrots und cabbages seize; De potatoes dey got mit de rest, Und, pecause I vould raise von beeg row, Dey shoost tell me, pull down mit mine vest Und dey call me von noisy old frau.

Yours yet, Katrina.

FRITZ WRITES AGAIN

Dear Katrina,--Dis letter you get So already you know how I vas; Vell, dere's von ting dat troubles me yet, Und I tells you de reason pecause; Dose nurse doctors you tink vas so gay Haf de heaves, und blind staggers und gout, Und dey trow dose nice cabbage avay Dat vould make me some goot saur-kraut.

Und de limburger cheese dat you sent, Dat vas making me feel shtrong und vell, Britty soon mit the garbage it vent, For dose nurses dey don't like de shmell.

Ven I ask for pork sausages vonce, Den dey say, (vot I tells you is true,) "Don't you know, you fat-headed old dunce, Dose vill gif you de tic-doul-our-eux."

Dey von't let me no liverwurst eat; For dey say it ain't fit for de crows.

Ven I ask for some shmiercase so shweet, Den dey laugh und dey turn up deir nose, Dey shoost feed me some custards und jell Und some broth dat I drink mit a cup, How dey tink I vill efer get vell If dey don't keep mine stomach filled up?

Ven dis var vill get ofer you pet!

Den some pickled pig's feet I vill buy, Mit bologna and shnapps, maype yet, Und some coffee to drink ven I'm dry, Britty soon to mine bed I musht go, So no more I can't write you shoost now; Gif mine luf to dose beeples ve know Und take some for yourself, mine dear frau.

Mine truly, Fritz.

KATRINA REPLIES

Mine dear Fritz,--Vot to tink I don't know, Ven dose hospital letters I get, But mine tears dey vill run britty shlow, Till I hear some tings different yet, Ven you're sick like you tries to make oudt, Vot you vant mit some shmeircase to eat, Und pork sausages, coffee and kraut Und limburger und pickled pig's feet?

I shoost tink you contented might shtay, Till de var is all ofer und done, Mit some custards und jells like you say, Dat is better dan facing de gun.

Ve get nefer such goot tings like dese Here at home in de old Faderland, For dose English shut up all de seas Ven to shtarve us goot Shermans dey planned.

Ven de men und de poys vent avay For to fight for de goot Faderland, Den de vomans must vork all de day Mit a piece of plack bread in deir hand.

Dere's no meat now, nor b.u.t.ter at all, Shoost de tings ve can grow in de ground; Und already I'm getting so shmall, Dat mine dress vill go twice times around.

All dat cash in de bank dat ve haf, Ven de Kaiser's men need it, dey said, If dey takes efry cent dat ve save, Schraps of baper dey gifs us instead.

But I fool dose chaps vonce, britty soon, For I put all de gold in a sack, Mit your vatch, und mine brooches und shpoon In de garden I bury dem back.

Yours yet, Katrina.