Grand-Père

 And so when he reached my bed
 The General made a stand:
"My brave young fellow," he said,
 "I would shake your hand.
"

So I lifted my arm, the right,
 With never a hand at all;
Only a stump, a sight
 Fit to appal.


"Well, well.
 Now that's too bad!
 That's sorrowful luck," he said;
"But there! You give me, my lad,
 The left instead.
"

So from under the blanket's rim
 I raised and showed him the other,
A snag as ugly and grim
 As its ugly brother.


He looked at each jagged wrist;
 He looked, but he did not speak;
And then he bent down and kissed
 Me on either cheek.


You wonder now I don't mind
 I hadn't a hand to offer.
 .
 .
 .

They tell me (you know I'm blind)
 'Twas Grand-Père Joffre.

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