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THE EVERYDAY OF WAR 61
The rolling limber and jolting cart
The khaki-clad platoon, The eager eye and the stout young heart,
And the silver-sandalled moon.
But here I'm kept to the narrow bed,
A maimed and broken thing— Never a long day's march ahead
Where brown battalions swing. But though time drags by like a wounded snake
Where the young life's lure's denied, A good stiff lip for the old pal's sake,
And the old battalion's pride !
The ward-fire burns in a cheery way,
A vision in every flame, There are books to read and games to play
But oh ! for an old, old game,