Page:The moods of Ginger Mick.djvu/70

 62 "Strike!" sez 'e. "It sounds like skitin'; but they're singin' while they're fightin'; An' they socks it into Abdul to the toon o' 'Nancy Lee.' An' I seen a bloke this mornin' wiv 'is arm blown to a rag, 'Ummin' 'Break the Noos to Mother,' w'ile 'e sucked a soothin' fag.

"Now, the British Tommy curses, an' the French does fancy stunts, An' the Turk 'e 'owls to Aller, an' the Gurkha grins an' grunts; But our boys is singin', singin', while the blinded shells is flingin' Mud an' death into the trenches in them 'eavens called the Fronts. An' I guess their souls keep singin' when they gits the tip to go..." So I gits it, straight frum Ginger; an' Gawstruth! 'e ort to know.

An' 'is letter gits me thinkin' when I read sich tales as these, An' I takes a look around me at the paddicks an' the trees; When I 'ears the thrushes trillin', when I 'ear the magpies fillin' All the air frum earth to 'eaven wiv their careless melerdies— It's the sunshine uv the country, caught an' turned to bonzer notes; It's the sunbeams changed to music pourin' frum a thousand throats.