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Show A LETTER FROM HOME It's just a piece of paper, But it means an awful lot, He finds it every morning In the covers of his cot; And when the day is over And the bugle sounds retreat, He hurries back to read his mail, It makes the day complete. When the chores are over., And the evening chow is done, And the shadows start to lengthen, And distant is the sun He thinks back on things He's done And things he has to do He does it most for you. So next time you drop a note Of things you might think stale, Just think about the soldier boy Who's waiting for that mail; It might be about a hat you bought Or a coat you couldn't buy; It's little things like that, you bet That puts his spirits high. He takes a lot of kickin' Within the course of a day, But the things you write about, Help take those things away; I know this all sounds silly, And it might not mean a lot, But a soldiers bit of heaven Is the letters on his cot. PATRICIA |