To tell me what to do.”
Here’s a youngster sprawled in an old shell hole
With a Chauchat at his eye;
There’s some wide H.E. on the next O.P.
And a Fokker in the sky.
It’s a hundred yards to his jump-off trench
And ten to the German wire,
But what does he hear, more loud and clear
Than the crack of harassing fire?
Echoed footsteps on the marble