Page:A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919.djvu/195

 Rh

Sez I: If they would do the decent thing,

And shield the missis and the little 'uns,

Why, even I might shout God save the King,

And face the chances of them 'ungry guns.

But we've got three, another on the way;

It's that wot makes me snarl and set me jor:

The wife and nippers wot of 'em, I say,

If I gets knocked out in this blasted war?

Gets proper busted by a shell,

But. . . wot the 'ell, Bill? Wot the 'ell?

Ay, wot the 'ell's the use of all this talk?

To-day some boys in blue was passin' me,

And some of 'em they 'ad no legs to walk,

And some of 'em they 'ad no eyes to see.

And—well, I couldn't look 'em in the face,

And so I'm goin', goin' to declare

I'm under forty-one and take my place

To face the music with the bunch out there.

A fool, you say! Maybe you're right.

I'll 'ave no peace unless I fight.

I've ceased to think; I only know

I've gotta go, Bill, gotta go. Robert W. Service

HE wounded Canadian speaks:

My leg? It's off at the knee.

Do I miss it? Well, some. You see

I've had it since I was born;

And lately a devilish corn.

(I rather chuckle with glee

To think how I've fooled that corn.)

But I'll hobble around all right.

It isn't that, it's my face.

Oh, I know I'm a hideous sight,

Hardly a thing in place.