Writ in Barracks

When ev'ry blessed minute seems like thirty!

Bein' punished for your deeds,
On fatig' a-pickin' weeds,
Can a bloke admire the beauties of the clover?
Does the sunset on the 'ills
Give defaulters any thrills
Except to know the day is nearly over.

Bein' frog-marched to the clink,
Does a feller stop to think
On the grass before 'is eyes so swif'ly runnin',
'Ow that ev'ry single blade
Is most wonderfully made
Wiv a skill beyond all artificial cunnin'?

An' you cannot pant for wars
When you're scrubbin' barrack floors,
Or get inspired on bully-beef an' biscuit:
It requires a poet's soul
When a feller's cartin' coal
To think 'isself in danger, an' to risk it.

Does a feller care a D —
For the friskin' of a lamb,
When 'e 'as to watch the friskin' thro' a gratin'?
Does the lowin' of the 'erds,
Or the twitterin' of the birds,
Soothe a feller when for punishment 'e's waitin'?

L' ENVOI

In the deepest pits of 'Ell,
Where the worst defaulters dwell
(Charcoal devils used as fuel as you require 'em),
There's some lovely coloured rays,
Pyrotechnical displays:
But you can't expect the burnin' to admire 'em!

THE COLONEL'S GARDEN

There are gardins, an' there's gardins,
Some are good, an' some are not.
There are gardins in a glass 'ouse
Where the air is allus 'ot.
But whether on a winder-ledge,
Or in a flower-pot,
I'll back our Colonel's gardin
For to lick the bilin' lot.

There are gardners, an' there's gardners,
Some are great, an' some are small.
Some could change a bloomin' brickfield
To a Covent Gard'n ball!
There are some 'oo couldn't 'ardly
Fix a creeper to a wall!
But I'll back our Colonel's gardner,
Jerry Jordan, 'gin 'em all!

O the flowers they are lovely!
An' the roses they are fair;
An' the daisies they are winkin'
Thro' a lash of maiden-'air!
An' the lilies, tall an' naked —
Tho' it's little that they care!
An' the garden – under Jerry —
Is a place beyond compare!

There are flowers bloomin' early,
There are flowers bloomin' late;
There is 'oneysuckle climbin'
On the porchway, by the gate.
There's some cress an' mustard growin'
On a commissairy plate!
O the garden it is lovely —
That's when Jerry's on the straight!

* * * * *

O the garden it's neglected.
An' the pinks 'ave ceased to pink,
An' the petals they are droppin',
An' the blooms they bend and sink.
O the flowers they are fadin'
Now that Jerry's took to drink!
O the flowers they're neglected —
Jerry Jordan's in the clink!

For the flowers will not blossom,
An' they don't give out no smells,
The convul'vus it is weepin'
From its verigated bells.
An' the lily's in hysterics,
An' she faints away in spells:
O there's weepin', an' there's wailin' —
Jerry Jordan's doin' cells!

* * * * *

O the path is rolled an' gravelled,