From the north, East, south and West,
When called upon we sent our best;
Thru that "Melting Pot" o'er there,
Hearts were moulded, souls laid bare.

Or simple greeting known as "Buddy,"
Is worthy of philosopher's study;
No matter whether man or lad,
That's the one greeting we all had.

From small a thing as "Gimme a light,"
To laying down his life in a fight,
There was no color, nor was there creed,
Whenever a "Buddy" was in need.

A man may have been of the Gospel bred,
Or so low that even his name was dead,
Yet when he grasped a "Buddy's" hand,
There passed a love they alone understand.

Country, color, creed and station,
Moulded as one in War's Devastation,
When "Buddies" went on to that unknown goal,
Shoulder to shoulder, soul to soul.

"Rhymes of a Lost Battalion Doughboy"
By Buck Private McCullom

Submitted by Thomas V. Cassis, D/2/7 1950-51

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