Camp Mills, New York
July 22, 1918


Dear Mr. Cole:


       We are now located at Camp Mills, Long Island and have more time to write for we don't do much drilling here just resting up for our long trip across the pond.
       Hope every thing is O.K. at the office and running smooth. I saw by the paper that Florence married. Suppose it will be a whole new force when I return to Baraboo.
       One of my bunk mates is quite a poet and I'm sending you three of his poems and if you find room in your paper wish you would publish them, and if you can for any more later on I will get some more from him. And at his request wish you would send Miss Carolyn Bartlett, 219 Mansfield St., Chippewa Falls, Wis., a marked copy of the issue that these poems are in.
       Thanking you in advance I am as ever your friend.
       Clifford


       Give my regards to Mr. Page and all the others, and when I get the time again I will write you a letter that you can put in the paper.


       Co. A 330th M.G. Bn.
       Camp Mills, Long Island, N.Y.


Soldier's Mail


H.E. Cole
Baraboo, Wisconsin U.S.A


I am now located at Cannes and having a wonderful time. Very beautiful her.
As ever Cliff


Pvt. C. Steinbrink
U.S. Army


Pri. C.H. Steinbrink
U.S.Army


Dear Mr. Cole,


Having lots of rain but not very cold. Have seen some very interesting places around here, will tell you about them when I get back.


As ever, Clifford
Poems by Arthur M. Simpson


                                      Out in the world alone.
                              No longer at home sweet home.
                                          THE ROAMER


A lad in his quiet country home,                        He trained each day in earnest,
With good old parents kind,                        For the soldier he was to be.
Had read so much of the wide, wide world.        But presently there came a call
And acquired a roaming mind.                        That he must cross the sea.
Forgetting his sweet home.                        Farther from home sweet home.


A fortnight finds him far away,                        Once more he yielded to his country's call
In a city large and grand,                                He was not afraid to go.
He had left that nature made by God,                He landed safely over there,
For that built up by hand.                                And prepared to strike a blow.
He had left a home sweet home.                        Defending a home sweet home.


His mind was filled with wonder,                He took his place with comrades brave.
At this wonderous work of art.                        And fought as a patriot should.
He walked the streets quite late at night,        But when the battles roar had ceased.
With a light and happy heart.                        His comrades round him stood.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But what of his home sweet home.                And spoke of home sweet home.


His parents old, had waited long,                His lips began to murmur.
For a message or a word.                                A comrade stopped to hear.
From the prodigal who had gone away.        A smile came on the young man's face,
Quite free and undisturbed.                        In his comrades eye--- a tear.
Waited at home sweet home.                        He was nearing home sweet home.


At last the young man wrote a line,                At last he saw a vision fair,
To his love ones far away.                        None saw but he alone.
He told them of this city grand,                        He closed his eyes--- and all was o'er
And the life so great and gay.                        At last he had reached his home.
Not so at home sweet home.                        The home of all sweet homes.


The kind old parents began to fear,
For their boy who'd gone away.
Each evening found them silent,
While the Mother tried to pray.
Tis the love at home sweet home.


But bye and bye his country called.
At once he must respond.
He had no chance to visit home.
Of which he was so fond.
His quiet home sweet home.


He went into a training camp,                        The Roamer, by Arthur M. Simpson
Far from the quiet home.                                        Co. A. 330th, M.G.BN.
His parents prayed for their dear boy,                                Camp Custer, Mich.

       Home


Far away beneath the Eastern sky.
Is a spot so dear to me.
The scenes of happy childhood days.
Tis there I long to be.


Twas there I played along the brook,
And climbed the steepest hill.
And ran in all my childish glee.
My mother's pail to fill.


Father coming from the field,
As each day the old bell rang.
Mother busy with her cares,
As she worked away and sang.


There was the shady maple.
And the spreading chestnut tree.
There too hung the bright red cherries.
And they seemed to speak to me.


All day in the bright warm sunshine,
With all my pets I'd play.
And when the evening shadows fell,
At my mother's knee I'd pray.


My Mother dear where is she now.
How I miss my Mother's love.
God called her to a better home,
The home of rest above.


By Arthur M. Simpson,
Co.A. 330th M.G.Bn.
Camp Custer, Mich.
Pvt. Steinbrink, Clifford