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Today I felt so
lonely,
Yet I wanted to be alone,
As I wandered to the temple
Called our little Legion Home.
Dedicated to “God
and country,”
Could a better motto be?
For a man without a country
Is like a leaf without a tree.
Perhaps you may
call us dreamers;
Yet, like the seers of old,
We plainly saw the future
And at last we reached the goal.
I could tell you
many a story,
Of sorrow, heartache, and. pain,
But at last we have a building
For the boys who went from Maine.
I halt and gaze
upon it
As it stands there, white and trim;
The old pine tree, our sentry,
Whispers: “All is well within.
As I slowly cross
the threshold
That room to me is grand;
For ‘tis not the work of masters
But of my Comrades’ hand.
As I sit here by
the fireside,
My thoughts drift back to when
We started on the Buxton side,
A band of twenty man.
It was in the month
of June,
In Nineteen Twenty-two,
We gathered at the Red Men’s Hall
And planned what we would do.
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We started at the
sunset
And broke up just at dawn,
But when we left that morning
Our little Post was born.
Men who stood at
Chateau Thierry
And helped turn the German tide;
St. Mihiel and Belleau Wood
Again their mettle tried.
Hollis, Buxton,
Dayton,
Standing side by side,
Like the rest of old New England,
Went over there to die.
Others in the Navy,
Had surely served their time
Back and Forth across the sea,
Dodging German mines.
Others, up at
Devens,
Waiting to go to France,
Shut in there with the Flu,
Didn’t have a gamblers chance.
Some pegged it off
alone
To do their little bit,
With men from forty-seven other states
To give the Germans fits,
How we gathered
round the box stove
And told unearthly lies;
The Army and the Navy
Each trying for the prize.
When the sailors
told the story
Of taking us across
The army quickly told them
They were a total loss.
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The navy same back
at the army,
Didn't we use you nice?;
Yes you did, you Blue-clad loafers,
you gave us all your Lice.”
“When we went on
at Hoboken
For the army, what a crack,
A gang of wall—eyed sailors
Stole the packs from off our backs.”
“Do you remember,
up in Paris
When we walked out with Marie
One of Butler’s half-breed sailors
Would pop out behind a tree?"
“With a, ’You can't
stand there soldier,
"Button up your coat,
If you say those words in here Marines,
We’ll ram them down your throat.“
How cheery and how
cozy
this little room did seem
'Till at last I got so dozy
I fell into a dream.
I heard a bugle
playing,
Soft and mellow was it’s note
Like a lark out in the meadow
With its silv'ry fluted throat.
Nearer, nearer,
came the music
Floating softly on the air;
In my dream I sensed the difference,
The bugler had no earthly care.
Suddenly the music
ceased;
I glanced up from my chair;
Standing there before me
Were four true Legionnaires. |
I rose to gladly
greet them
This little Legion host,
For once they were my buddies
And members of our Post.
On their shoulders
the Legion Motto
Was written in letters bold
On their tunics was a poppy
And their belts were trimmed with gold.
We five sat down
together
And talked of days of old;
Told the stories of the Legion
That never will grow old.
I thought as I
looked upon them
“How freely Lid they give
For home , for God, and country
That you and I might live.”
May thirty, as we
crossed the river
Behind the Saco vets,
We were thinking of you, buddies,
For the Legion never forgets.
At last
my dream is over,
The
shadows around me
fall;
softly close the doors
And, in
silence,
leave the
hall.
As I travel
down the
roadway
with the
sinking of the sun
And look
back at the doorway
Four
voices
say, "Well done,”
One request of you, my
buddies,
When my light
has flickered out- -;
Will you draw my chair up to your fire
And leave your latchstring
oue?"
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Maine High Adventure