My grandfather, who served with the US 35th Infantry Division in France along with Sherman Potter(!) left each of us grandkids a copy of this poem. Presumably, it dates back to 1918 or maybe 1917, but it came with no background, not even an author. Is anyone familiar with it? Can anyone provide any additional information? Googling the title didn't turn up anything.
SYMPATHIZING WITH SHEP
"Dear Dad," he wrote, "I'm here in France
And sharing in each Yank advance.
We're driving back the filthy Hun,
The Heinies now are on the run.
And I am well and strong tonight,
Except for little things that bite.
"Do you recall those happy days
We sat before the log fire's blaze
Within our little parlor, snug
With Shep asleep upon the rug,
And heard the clock tick on the shelf
Except when Shep would scratch himself?
"And there were times, with sudden zip,
He'd bite himself upon the hip,
Then turn his head in manner queer
To scratch himself behind the ear,
Then, like the whirling of a gale,
Get up and madly chase his tail,
"Well, Dad, I do not want to brag
But since in France I serve the Flag
I'll say, in running down a flea,
Shep never had a thing on me!
In fact I think I've learned to do
Some twists our old dog never knew.
"We used to scold and put him out,
We would not let him stay about
When he began to thump the floor,
But, oh, when I get home once more
I'll let Shep scratch the evening through,
Because, you see, I've had ‘em too."
Grelber
