[The newspaper clipping of the poem was kept within in a handmade booklet fashioned from black-bordered mourning envelopes – the full booklet is posted in the Collection Contents “Artwork” section.]

“Somewhere in France” her darling boy
   Is sleeping in his grave.
The greatest gift a man can give
   His native land, he gave.
The war shall end, the troops return;
   The tread of marching feet,
With martial step, shall then be heard
   Resounding from the street.
She’ll see the boys go marching by;
   She’ll see them swing along;
She’ll hear the cheers of welcome and
   The soldiers’ battle song.
But while the soldiers swing along,
   And while the horses prance,
Her thoughts will be afar—they’ll be
   With him—“Somewhere in France.”