MUD.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 2, 26 March 1920, Page 1

MUD.

"Delver."

We'll stand 'is flamin' shrapnel, what he lobs all round about, We're used ter pickied fruit and H.E. shells ; Machi'ne guns makes yer anxious, and the iiniper puts you out, But one thing worse upon yer patience tells. Its the mud, the blindin' mud, Clingin', draggin,' downing mud, With lakes, an' pools and puddles far and wide ; Grave of debris, dead, and dud, Black and brown, and tinged with blood ; The soil where heroes struggled, fought, and died. When stretcher-bearers stagger under loads that hurt their backs, Sore wounded comrades, silent in their pain, And six men take an hour to do a mile without a track Thro'ugh depths of liquid clay in pourin' rain. But sometimes when you've cowered down and prayed you rnight evade The shell that came right at you with a dive, Some stinging scraps have hit. you, but you move on undismayed ; Thank God, it lobbed in mud; you're still alive. Its the mud, the blindin' mud, Clingin,' draggin', downing mud, With lakes an' pools and puddles far and wide ; Grave of debris, dead, and dud, Black and brown, and tinged with blood ; The soil where heroes struggled, fought

and died.