The lucky houses down our way
Have all got soldiers come to stay,
In ones and twos, in threes and fours,
The number chalked beside the doors.

And when the doors are open wide
You see their khaki coats inside,
And children of the house perhaps
Are trying on the khaki caps.

From army-waggons bread and meat
And all the things that soldiers eat
Each day the khaki driver drops —
How much more nice than food from shops!

Then when the men come back from drill
I loiter by and look my fill,
When all the small bare rooms are bright
With cheerful smiles and fire-light.

Sometimes a merry group at tea
Hands round the news from land and sea,
Sometimes a lonely soldier bends
Over a letter to his friends.

At night, when I've been long in bed,
The men tramp home with martial tread:
" Good-night " rings out the bugle call,
" Good-morning " when it wakes us all.