Energy books

From one bed I
heard a boy's voice say: "Oh, don't go yet, sister! You have only
given me two minutes, and I want ten, at least. I am passionately in
love with you, you know, and I have been waiting all day for your
beauty!"
There was a gust of laughter in the ward.
"The child is at it again!" said one of the officers.
"When are you going to write me another sonnet?" asked the nurse. "The
last one was much admired."
"The last one was rotten," said the boy. "I have written a real corker
this time. Read it to yourself, and don't drop its pearls before these
swine."
"Well, you must be good, or I won't read it at all."
An officer of the British army, who was also a poet, hurled the
bedclothes off and sat on the edge of his bed in his pajamas.
"I'm fed up with everything! I hate war! I don't want to be a hero! I
don't want to die! I want to be loved! . . . I'm a glutton for love!"
In his pajamas the boy looked a child, no older than a schoolboy who
was mine and who still liked to be tucked up in bed by his mother.


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