A superb 100+ page complete volume of original poems by a young man employed by the Civil Conservation Corps in the wake of the Great Depression.

The author, Will Morgan, began his compositions in 1934. All the compositions are centered in this era or shortly thereafter, including many poems on his work as part of the C.C.C. and perhaps up through the Second World War. He writes originally from Camp Knox, the name for the C.C.C. based at Fort Knox.

The C.C.C. was eventually abolished at the beginning of the Second World War to free of more men to fight, so presumably he was drafted. There is also an image of Morgan in uniform, dated to 1944. 

In addition to poems regarding his work with the Civilian Conservation Corps, unsurprisingly, many center on themes of romance, etc., Also others on heading to the swimming hole as a boy, on mammy in the cotton fields [with ebonics], one entitled "I'm a Pagan," Spain [Tango], on manhood, Goodby Camp Knox [CCC], Fixin' Bunks [CCC], Loneliness, XMas, Our Kid, Carrying Logs [CCC], Won't the Bugle Ever Blow? [CCC], CC Blues, Christmas in the CC's, etc., All original; some exhibit real wit and quality, though our friend is obviously not a professional; so, some clunkers as well. 

A fascinating slice of social history with a very peculiar emphasis; we have been unable to locate anything else quite like it.

c.85 total poems on c.150 pages. 

ROOKIES

From farms, from villages, from cities they came;
Each to play his part in one of life's games.
Some staggered and fell by the wayside, its true;
They couldn't fight on as the others would do.
Lessons were learned by the sweat of the brow;
And tho morale fell, they hung on somehow.
Now, thru sickness, thru toil, thru strife;
They're prepared to battle upward thru life.

BUGLES

The bugle blows; we have to arise
So early every morn
While the fellows swear and curse the guy
Whose blowing that damned horn

Some fellows rise with happy thoughts
While others do get sore
But listen to the howls of the sleepy ones
When they're dumped out on the floor

 Fret not for long, my fellow lads
For together at home we'll share
The peaceful rest of the morning hours
For there ain't no bugles there.

OUR C.C. SWEATHEART

She has a date most every night
This C.C. girl of ours
It seems as though she'd get her fill
Of candy, shows, and flowers

But every night she steps right out
A new guy on her arm
To take her here - to take here there
And keep her safe ? from harm

One night is Cron, the next it's Hops
Then maybe Slim or Dawson
It might be Seadog or Rootbeer Hycke
Or even Washtub Lawson

But it makes no difference who it may be
We know she'll carry on
With the fellow who comes to take our place
As soon as we are gone

PAYDAY IN CAMP

The bugle blows; the fellows rush
To find their place in line
And joyously I line up too
So that I may get mine

The canteen and the laundry
Take part of my ready cash
My pocket-book begins to look
Like the remains of the Wall Street Crash

Some goes to pay for haircuts
I must have had last fall
Some for booze and my sweetie's shoes
That I ruined at the C.C. ball

Then finally, to top it off
The Captain takes a fine
So I guess I'll wait till next month
Then maybe I'll get mine

CCC CAMP KNOX

Rookies we came, but now we know
Just what to do when the whistles blow
We march, we toil, we drill all day
But no matter what happens we're here to stay

There is no time, there is no date
Still a friendship rises from a minor hate
We fight, we swear, but return again
To answer our foes when they call us friend

We share our troubles and our joys too
We try to keep each other from becoming blue
It seems as tho we're to be forever more
In the U.S. Civilian Conservation Corps

DRUMS

Remember a night dear, not so long ago
When we danced to music so soft and so low
There I told I wanted a kiss from the start
While the beat of the drums kept time with my heart

You told me my wish was only in vain
You'd loved once too dearly, but never again
In my arms you were close, but still far apart
For the drums were not keeping in time with your heart.

EVERYONE'S DUTY

Listen to the beat of the martial tread
As the C.C.'s go along their way
With smiling face and uplifted head
On to their toil of the day

From every rank of life are they
Who squarely face the nation's need
From cutting trees, they try to stay
He who reaches with a hand of greed

Should they withdraw from the fray
When every citizen's duty plain
To lend a helping hand today
So their trials won't be in vain.