Classic Poem

In the raftered barn we lie,
Sprawl, scrawl postcards, laugh and speak —
Just mere men a trifle weary,
Worn in heart, a trifle weak:
Because alway
At close of day
Thought steals to England far away. . . .
" Alf! " " O ay. "
" Gi' us a tune, mate. " " Well, wot say? "
" Swipe " The Policeman's 'Oliday" ... "
" Tiddle-iddle-um-tum,
Tum - TUM . "

Sprawling on my aching back,
Think Inought; but I am glad —
Dear, rare lads of pick and pack!
Aie me too! I'm sad ... I'm sad:
Some must die
(Maybe I):
O pray it take them suddenly!
" Bill! " " Wot ho! "
" Concertina: let it go —
" If you were the only girl" " " Cheero!
" If you were the Only Girl. "

Damn. " Abide with Me ..." Not now! —
Well ... if you must: just your way.
It racks me till the tears nigh flow.
The tune see-saws. I turn, I pray
Behind my hand,
Shaken, unmanned,
In groans that God may understand:
Miracle!
" Let, let them all survive this hell. "
Hear " Trumpeter, what are you sounding?" swell.
(My God! I guess indeed too well:
The broken heart, eyes front, proud knell!)
Grant but mine sound with their farewell.
" It's the Last Post I'm sounding. "