by Cpl. Robert L. Cook
Jan. 42~Sept. 45
I snapped it to
My old web belt.
It rode upon my hip.
And every little
Now and then
I'd take a little nip.
I packed it over rough terrain.
I packed it over grass.
I filled from a Lister bag
Of water, second-class.
I kept it in my foxhole
And there beneath my bunk.
I cared for it as best I could,
It never made me drunk.
The last day I saw it,
'Twas on that "Bloody Ridge,"
When shot and shell
Were whizzing,
And they had one
Just for us.
I reached for it apaining
But it was not afound.
The remnants of its being
Were scattered o'er the ground.
That old canteen
Stood by me
Until the bitter end.
I could not
have ever found,
A better silent friend.
*
**
**About the author: Robert Cook served with Reg. Weapons Co.(2d-2d) from 1942~44, at Guadalcanal & Tarawa, during a 33-month overseas tour.
