Any Soldier To His Son Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: AABBAACCDEFF EEAGHHIIJKLLFFHHMMNN AA OOPPNNEE EEQQRREENNNNNNSSTT AAEENNUUNNNNRR EEQQNNNNVV NNEEEEWW

What did I do sonny in the Great World WarA
Well I learned to peel potatoes and to scrub the barrack floorA
I learned to push a barrow and I learned to swing a pickB
I learned to turn my toes out and to make my eyeballs clickB
I learned the road to Folkestone and I watched the English shoreA
Go down behind the skyline as I thought for evermoreA
And the Blighty boats went by us and the harbour hove in sightC
And they landed us and sorted us and marched us by the rightC
Quick march across the cobbles by the kids who rang alongD
Singing Appoo Spearmant Shokolah through dingy old BoulogneE
By the widows and the nurses and the niggers and ChineseF
And the gangs of smiling Fritzes as saucy as you pleaseF
-
I learned to ride as soldiers ride from Etaps to the LineE
For days and nights in cattle trucks packed in like droves of swineE
I learned to curl and kip it on a foot of muddy floorA
And to envy cows and horses that have beds of beaucoup strawG
I learned to wash in shell holes and to shave myself in teaH
While the fragments of a mirror did a balance on my kneeH
I learned to dodge the whizz bangs and the flying lumps of leadI
And to keep a foot of earth between the sniper and my headI
I learned to keep my haversack well filled with buckshee foodJ
To take the Army issue and to pinch what else I couldK
I learned to cook Maconochie with candle ends and stringL
With four by two and sardine oil and any God dam thingL
I learned to use my bayonet according as you pleaseF
For a breadknife or a chopper or a prong for toasting cheeseF
I learned a first field dressing to serve my mate and meH
As a dish rag and a face rag and a strainer for our teaH
I learned to gather souvenirs that home I hoped to sendM
And hump them round for months and months and dump them in the endM
I learned to hunt for vermin in the lining of my shirtN
To crack them with my finger nail and feel the beggars spirtN
I learned to catch and crack them by the dozen and the scoreA
And to hunt my shirt tomorrow and to find as many moreA
-
I learned to sleep by snatches on the firestep of a trenchO
And to eat my breakfast mixed with mud and Fritz's heavy stenchO
I learned to pray for Blighty ones and lie and squirm with fearP
When Jerry started strafing and the Blighty ones were nearP
I learned to write home cheerful with my heart a lump of leadN
With the thought of you and mother when she heard that I was deadN
And the only thing like pleasure over there I ever knewE
Was to hear my pal come shouting There's a parcel mate for youE
-
So much for what I did do now for what I have not doneE
Well I never kissed a French girl and I never killed a HunE
I never missed an issue of tobacco pay or rumQ
I never made a friend and yet I never lacked a chumQ
I never borrowed money and I never lent but onceR
I can learn some sorts of lessons though I may be borne a dunceR
I never used to grumble after breakfast in the LineE
That the eggs were cooked too lightly or the bacon cut too fineE
I never told a sergeant just exactly what I thoughtN
I never did a pack drill for I never quite got caughtN
I never punched a Red Cap's nose be prudent like your DadN
But I'd like as many sovereigns as the times I've wished I hadN
I never stopped a whizz bang though I've stopped a lot of mudN
But the one that Fritz sent over with my name on was a dudN
I never played the hero or walked about on topS
I kept inside my funk hole when the shells began to dropS
Well Tommy Jones's father must be made of different stuffT
I never asked for trouble the issue was enoughT
-
So I learned to live and lump it in the lovely land of warA
Where the face of nature seems a monstrous septic soreA
Where the bowels of earth of earth hang open like the guts of something slainE
And the rot and wreck of everything are churned and churned againE
Where all is done in darkness and where all is still in dayN
Where living men are buried and the dead unburied layN
Where men inhabit holes like rats and only rats live thereU
Where cottage stood and castle once in days before La GuerreU
Where endless files of soldiers thread the everlasting wayN
By endless miles of duckboards through endless walls of clayN
Where life is one hard labour and a soldiers gets his restN
When they leave him in the daisies with a puncture in his chestN
Where still the lark in summer pours her warble from the skiesR
And underneath unheeding lie the blank upstaring eyesR
-
And I read the Blighty papers where the warriors of the penE
Tell of Christmas in the trenches and The Spirit of our menE
And I saved the choicest morsels and I read them to my chumQ
And he muttered as he cracked a louse and wiped it off his thumbQ
May a thousand chats from Belgium crawl under their fingers as they writeN
May they dream they're not exempted till they faint with mortal frightN
May the fattest rats in Dickebusch race over them in bedN
May the lies they've written choke them like a gas cloud till they're deadN
May the horror and the torture and the things they never tellV
For they only write to order be reserved for them in HellV
-
You'd like to be a soldier and go to France some dayN
By all the dead in Delville Wood by all the nights I layN
Between our lines and Fritz's before they brought me inE
By this old wood and leather stump that once was flesh and skinE
By all the lads who crossed with me but never crossed againE
By all the prayers their mothers and their sweethearts prayed in vainE
Before the things that were that day should ever more befallW
May God in common pity destroy us one and allW

Anonymous English



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