March 21, 1917
I shall be returning to the line to-morrow, and this is just a note in case I should not have time to write on my arrival there, where I shall doubtless find a lot of letters from you.
Nothing really has happened since I wrote on Sunday. The weather is a little colder. Yesterday was rainy and disagreeable. But this morning it is fine and bracing. Have just returned from a walk along the canal, and write this while waiting for lunch.
By way of padding the envelope, I enclose a few lines of doubtful merit intended as introduction to a poetical treatise which may or may not materialize. I might say that the original of the garret is not in Picardy, but that name hath a pleasant sound unto the ear.
Love to all,