21 OCTOBER 1916, Page 14

POETRY.

A VERY HAPPY WARRIOR.

WS cold of a night in the trenches, But old Fritz must be feolin' the same.

'E don't like trench mortars, an' whizzbangs an' mud,

An' e 'ides the barbed wire. 'E'd quit if 'e could, 'Cos 'e's only a Bosch an' a 'eathen.

But me I Why I I'm glad as I came.

Biscuits is 'ard, and the bully Makes me throat like a roarin' flame.

I sleep in me clothes, an' me boots don't come off, Me trousers is tore. I ain't much of a toff.

But rye got a gold stripe on me tunic, An' some'ow I'm glad as I came.

They're strafin' the 'ole bloomin' mornin', An' all afternoon it's the same.

The nights is like 'ell, with Minnies and Crump' An' pipsqueaks and shrapnel in blinkin' great lumps, Yet we've got the best of the contract, An' some'ow I'm glad as I came.

Me brother-in-law's in Munitions Drawin' four quid a week at the game; 'E's bought a planer, an' lives on the fat, Sleeps in a bed wi' clean sheets an' all that; While I get a bob for a day an' a night, Yet some'ow I'm glad as I came.

For were ehovin"iin out of 'is trenches An' makin' a bit of a name.

It's worth 'undreds of quids to 'are bin in the show Knockin' spots off the 'Un. An' no one can know, Unless they 'aye bin in the ecrappin', Just why I'm so glad as I came. 0. C. PLATOON.