Yeah, I'm going away, and what'cha gonna do
Without somebody around to make wisecracks at you?
And who ya gonna have to foller you around
and creep up behind you without the slightest sound,
And tickle you till you yell, or jab you in the back?
Say, tell me, when I'm gone, are ya gonna feel the lack
of all the teasing and torment one guy can invent,
or do you pity those who live where I'm being sent?
Are ya gonna miss the bear hugs that nearly break your ribs,
the ugly faces, tangles hair and a million crazy fibs,
will ya miss the plain cussedness and orneryness that's me?
Do you wonder if I'm just as mean with everyone I see?
Well, I'll give ya a little hint to why I act the way I do,
it's just my own way of saying I think a lot of you.
So, later on, when you think back on all the things I be,
if you were once my victim, then you meant a lot to me.
By F. W. (Lucky) Hope
(This poem was written just a few days prior to my
induction into the U.S. Army Air Corps, in 1942.)
