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THE LONDON LADS
(While standing to arms in billets, La Beuvriere, July, 1915.)
Along the road in the evening the brown
battalions wind, With the trenches' threat of death before, the
peaceful homes behind; And luck is with you or luck is not as the ticket
of fate is drawn, The boys go up to the trench at dusk, but who
will come back at dawn ?
The winds come soft of an evening o'er the
fields of golden grain,
The good sharp scythes will cut the corn ere we
come back again ;
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