At night when all the house is still, I sometimes take my favourite briar,
And one last pipe ere bedtime fill,
Then fall to dreaming by the fire.
The cosy room, the easy-chair
Are left a hundred leagues behind,
I’m with the old battalion where
The cobbled roads of Flanders wind.
And once again the heavy pack,
And once again the miles of mud,
The old precarious duck-board track,
The cold o’nights that chilled the blood.
. . . . . . .
It’s good to have a house and fire,
And bed to go to. Midnight chimes;
I knock the ashes from by briar – Millions of men muse thus at times. W. D. COCKER From Poems Scots and English 1932, (Brown, Son & Ferguson, Ltd. Glasgow)
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