You were only a kid, little sister,
    When I started over the sea,
But you’ve grown quite a lot since I came here
    And you’ve written a letter to me.
And nobody knows that you wrote it –
    It’s a secret – and we’ll keep it well,
Your brother and you and the ocean,
    And nobody is going to tell.

You were only a tot when I left you.
    I remember I bade you good bye
And kissed you, a little bit flustered,
    And you promised you never would cry.
But I know that you cried, little sister,
    As soon as I’d gone out the door.
And did I cry myself? I’m a soldier
    So don’t ask me anything more.

I think of you often, kid sister.
    You’re the only kid sister I’ve got.
I know you’ll be good to your mother
    And I know that you’ll help her a lot.
And whenever she seems to be gloomy,
    You’ve got to cheer her somehow.
You were only a kid to your brother
    But you’re more than the world to him now.


                    Pickens Stansell Moore

Stan, young soldier

Written from France in 1918, when he was 20, to his sister Lydia Ann, age 15, at home in Washington, D.C. "Stan" was then a private in the American Expenditionary Force. Family legend would have it that he enlisted when he was only 16 years old. Private Moore served in the same regiment as his father, Charles W. Moore, who was Senior Color Sergeant. Sergeant Moore, at 62, was said to be the oldest U.S. non-commisioned officer serving in France.