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 | 5 |
To think how I’ve fooled that corn.) | |
But I’ll hobble around all right. | |
It is n’t that, it’s my face. | |
Oh, I know I’m a hideous sight, | |
Hardly a thing in place. | 10 |
Sort of gargoyle, you’d say. | |
Nurse won’t give me a glass, | |
But I see the folks as they pass | |
Shudder and turn away; | |
Turn away in distress … | 15 |
Mirror enough, I guess. | |
I’m gay! You bet I am gay, | |
But I was n’t a while ago. | |
If you’d seen me even to-day, | |
The darnedest picture of woe, | 20 |
With this Caliban mug of mine, | |
So ravaged and raw and red, | |
Turned to the wall—in fine | |
Wishing that I was dead…. | |
What has happened since then, | 25 |
Since I lay with my face to the wall, | |
The most despairing of men! | |
Listen! I’ll tell you all. | |
That poilu across the way, | |
With the shrapnel wound on his head, | 30 |
Has a sister: she came to-day | |
To sit awhile by his bed. | |
All morning I heard him fret: | |
“Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?” | |
Then sudden, a joyous cry; | 35 |
The tripping of little feet; | |
The softest, tenderest sigh; | |
A voice so fresh and sweet; | |
Clear as a silver bell, | |
Fresh as the morning dews: | 40 |
“C’est toi, c’est toi, Marcel! | |
Mon frère, comme je suis heureuse!” | |
So over the blanket’s rim | |
I raised my terrible face, | |
And I saw—how I envied him! | 45 |
A girl of such delicate grace; | |
Sixteen, all laughter and love; | |
As gay as a linnet, and yet | |
As tenderly sweet as a dove; | |
Half woman, half child—Fleurette. | 50 |
Then I turned to the wall again. | |
(I was awfully blue, you see,) | |
And I thought with a bitter pain: | |
“Such visions are not for me.” | |
So there like a log I lay, | 55 |
All hidden, I thought, from view, | |
When sudden I heard her say: | |
“Ah! Who is that malheureux?” | |
Then briefly I heard him tell | |
(However he came to know) | 60 |
How I’d smothered a bomb that fell | |
Into the trench, and so | |
None of my men were hit, | |
Though it busted me up a bit. | |
Well, I did n’t quiver an eye, | 65 |
And he chattered and there she sat; | |
And I fancied I heard her sigh— | |
But I would n’t just swear to that. | |
And maybe she was n’t so bright, | |
Though she talked in a merry strain, | 70 |
And I closed my eyes ever so tight, | |
Yet I saw her ever so plain: | |
Her dear little tilted nose, | |
Her delicate, dimpled chin, | |
Her mouth like a budding rose, | 75 |
And the glistening pearls within; | |
Her eyes like the violet: | |
Such a rare little queen—Fleurette. | |
And at last when she rose to go, | |
The light was a little dim, | 80 |
And I ventured to peep, and so | |
I saw her, graceful and slim, | |
And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh | |
How I envied and envied him! | |
So when she was gone I said | 85 |
In rather a dreary voice | |
To him of the opposite bed: | |
“Ah, friend, how you must rejoice! | |
But me, I’m a thing of dread. | |
For me nevermore the bliss, | 90 |
The thrill of a woman’s kiss.” | |
Then I stopped, for lo! she was there, | |
And a great light shone in her eyes. | |
And me! I could only stare, | |
I was taken so by surprise, | 95 |
When gently she bent her head: | |
“May I kiss you, sergeant?” she said. | |
Then she kissed my burning lips, | |
With her mouth like a scented flower, | |
And I thrilled to the finger-tips, | 100 |
And I had n’t even the power | |
To say: “God bless you, dear!” | |
And I felt such a precious tear | |
Fall on my withered cheek, | |
And darn it! I could n’t speak. | 105 |
And so she went sadly away, | |
And I know that my eyes were wet. | |
Ah, not to my dying day | |
Will I forget, forget! | |
Can you wonder now I am gay? | 110 |
God bless her, that little Fleurette! Robert W. Service |
On April 2, 2017, a family friend of Ashley Simpson opened her Facebook Messenger and got the surprise of her life. Cathy MacLeod had been trying to correspond with Ashley's boyfriend, Derek Favell, who was the last person to see the St. Catharines native before she disappeared from her home in Salmon Arm, B.C. a year before. She wanted to know more about what happened to Ashley, and why Favell had refused to take a polygraph test when many others close to the missing woman agreed to do so. "I wanted to poke the bear," she said, and sent several messages to Favell pleading with him to talk to her. " Please help us," she wrote. "It's been 10 months of pure hell. A lie detector would help if you have nothing to hide. I beg of you, help us, take the test to clear your name if there’s nothing to hide." Many, including members of the Simpson family, found Derek's behaviour, at least, curious. Ashley had disappeared on April 27, 2016. Yet it took
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