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Birthday (16th January 1949)

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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
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A Song of Winter Weather

Published by Susan on 07/23/2003 (5109 reads)
It isn't the foe that we fear...

It isn't the foe that we fear;
    It isn't the bullets that whine;
It isn't the business career
    Of a shell, or the bust of a mine;
It isn't the snipers who seek
    To nip our young hopes in the bud:
No, it isn't the guns,
And it isn't the Huns --
    It's the MUD,

It isn't the melee we mind.

That often is rather good fun.
    It isn't the shrapnel we find
Obtrusive when rained by the ton;
    It isn't the bounce of the bombs
That gives us a positive pain:
    It's the strafing we get
When the weather is wet --
    It's the RAIN,

It isn't because we lack grit
    We shrink from the horrors of war.
We don't mind the battle a bit;
    In fact that is what we are for;
It isn't the rum-jars and things
    Make us wish we were back in the fold:
It's the fingers that freeze
In the boreal breeze --
    It's the COLD,

Oh, the rain, the mud, and the cold,
    The cold, the mud, and the rain;
With weather at zero it's hard for a hero
    From language that's rude to refrain.
With porridgy muck to the knees,
    With sky that's a-pouring a flood,
Sure the worst of our foes
Are the pains and the woes
    Of the RAIN,
            THE COLD,
                AND THE MUD.

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