Classic Poem

With my bosom friend, Bill, armed ready to kill,
I go over the top as a listening-patrol.
Good watch we will keep if we don't fall asleep,
As we huddle for warmth in a shell-shovelled hole.

In the battle-lit night all the plain is alight,
Where the grasshoppers chirp to the frogs in the pond,
And the star-shells are seen bursting red, blue, and green,
O'er the enemy's trench just a stone's-throw beyond.

The grasses hang damp o'er each wee glow-worm lamp
That is placed on the ground for a fairy camp-fire,
And the night-breezes wheel where the mice squeak and squeal,
Making sounds like the enemy cutting our wire.

Here are thousands of toads in their ancient abodes,
Each toad on its stool and each stool in its place,
And a robin sits by with a vigilant eye
On a grim garden-spider's wife washing her face.

Now Bill never sees any marvels like these.
When I speak of the sights he looks up with amaze,
And he smothers a yawn, saying, " Wake me at dawn, "
While the Dustman from Nod sprinkles dust in his eyes.

But these things you'll see if you come out with me,
And sit by my side in a shell-shovelled hole,
Where the fairy-bells croon to the ivory moon
When the soldier is out on a listening-patrol.