All I know is what he writes her. br What she says or doesn’t br must be guessed between his lines. br br It is September 1918 in Battle Creek and raining, br she’s somewhere in Illinois where it is not. br He waits to be shipped across the Atlantic br br and kills the hours with burning words br promising his Yankee lass that no French girl br will get his best. br br He remembers a little of what he learned br of the Gaul tongue and by the end of his letter br he writes her adieu not knowing his fate is cast br br in a pine box draped in bleu, blanc and rouge br while hers in red, white and blue br half a century and a score in the future.