Poems

The Chances

     I mind as 'ow the night afore that show
     Us five got talking,—we was in the know,
     "Over the top to-morrer; boys, we're for it,
     First wave we are, first ruddy wave; that's tore it."
     "Ah well," says Jimmy,—an' 'e's seen some scrappin'—
     "There ain't more nor five things as can 'appen;
     Ye get knocked out; else wounded—bad or cushy;
     Scuppered; or nowt except yer feeling mushy."

     One of us got the knock-out, blown to chops.
     T'other was hurt, like, losin' both 'is props.
     An' one, to use the word of 'ypocrites,
     'Ad the misfortoon to be took by Fritz.
     Now me, I wasn't scratched, praise God Almighty
     (Though next time please I'll thank 'im for a blighty),
     But poor young Jim, 'e's livin' an' 'e's not;
     'E reckoned 'e'd five chances, an' 'e's 'ad;
     'E's wounded, killed, and pris'ner, all the lot—
     The ruddy lot all rolled in one.  Jim's mad.