A soldier boy, so brave and gay,*
with head held high, he marched away
His sweetheart wept, but every night
he'd think of her, and he would write:
Don't cry, my love, while I am gone!
Don't sigh, my love, just carry on!
The leaves are green, turned brown and gold
The days grew short, and nights were cold
But when the wind, the wind blew chill,
inspired with love, he'd write her still:
Then came the day he'd hungered for,
when he'd need lips, and dreams no more
For he could write, and it was true:
My dear, I do behold you!
Don't cry, my love, I'm coming home
Don't sigh, my love, no more I'll roam
We two again will never part
Stand easy, love, you've won my heart!
*Das meinte 1957 noch "fröhnlich", nicht "schwul" - Schwuchteln wurden erst ein halbes Jahrhundert später unter Barack Hussein Obama - der selber eine war - zur U.S. Army zugelassen.