Page:The moods of Ginger Mick.djvu/40

War ain't no giddy garden feete—it's war:
  A game that calls up love an' 'atred both.
An' them that shudders at the sight o' gore,
  An' shrinks to 'ear a drunken soljer's oath,
Must 'ide be'ind the man wot 'eaves the bricks,
An' thank their Gawd for all their Ginger Micks.

Becos 'e never 'ad the chance to find
  The glory o' the world by land an' sea,
Becos the beauty 'idin' in 'is mind
  Wus not writ plain fer blokes like you an' me,
They calls 'im crook; but in 'im I 'ave found
Wot makes a man a man the world around.

Be'ind that dile uv 'is, as 'ard as sin,
  Wus strange, soft thorts that never yet showed out;
An' down in Spadger's Lane, in dirt an' din,
  'E dreamed sich dreams as poits sing about.
'E's 'ad 'is visions uv the Bonzer Tart;
An' stoushed some coot to ease 'is swellin' 'eart.

Lovin' an' fightin' ... when the tale is told,
  That's all there is to it; an' in their way
Them brave an' noble 'ero blokes uv old
  Wus Ginger Micks—the crook 'uns uv their day.
Jist let the Call uv Stoush give 'im 'is chance
An' Ginger Mick's the 'ero of Romance.