A SONG OF WINTER WEATHER.

Waipawa Mail, Volume XXXVII, Issue 7920, 18 August 1917, Page 1 (Supplement)

A SONG OF WINTER WEATHER.

It isn’t the foe that we tea*'; It isn't i-lie bullets that whine; It isn’t the (business career Of a fciliell, or ne baist of a mine; It isn’t the snipers who seek To nip our young iiopes in the bud; No, it isn’t tlie guns, And it isn’t the Huns — It’s the mud, mud, mud. It isn’t the melee we mind, That often is rather good fun; "* It isn’t the shrapnel wo find Obtrusive when rained bjy tile ton. It isn’t the bounce of the bombs That gives us a positive pain; It isin’t the strafing we get When tlie weather is wet — It’s t|ie rain, rain, rain. It isn’t because we lack grit Wo .shrink from the horrors of war, Wo don’t mind the battle a bit, In fact that is* what we are for 5 It isn’t the rum jars and things Make us wish we were hack in the fold!; It’s the fingers that freeze In the boreal breeze— It’s the cold, cold, cold. (Mi, the rain, the mud, and tlie cold, The cold, the mud. and the rain ; With weather at zero it’s hard for a hero From language that’s rude to refrain. With porridgy muck to the knees, With sky that’s a-pouring a flood, Sure tho worst* of our fo.es Are tho pains and the woes Of tho rain, the cold, and the mud. •-From “ Rhymes of a Red Cross .Man,’’ by Robert N. Service