RECRUITING
“LADS, you’re wanted, go and help,”On the railway carriage wallStuck the poster, and I thoughtOf the hands that penned the call.
Fat civilians wishing they“Could go out and fight the Hun.”Can’t you see them thanking GodThat they’re over forty-one?
Girls with feathers, vulgar songs—Washy verse on England’s need—God—and don’t we damned well knowHow the message ought to read.
“Lads, you’re wanted! over there,”Shiver in the morning dew,More poor devils like yourselvesWaiting to be killed by you.
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