Hugh Martin’s poem The Stick Soldiers, from his book with the same title, starts this way:
To soldiers, I hope the war is fine — Girl Scout Troop 472.
The children have colored their cards,
dated from December, with Christmas trees, piles of presents,
snowmen smiling, waving. Sara wants
a doll. Evan, a dog. Kyle promises
to pray for us.
Outside the hooch, we open mail,
hundreds of letters,
from youth groups, scout troops,
classes of school children.
Kearns wants to write back,
ask for pictures
of older sisters.