THE SONG OF THE SOCK
DEDICATED TO LADY BAXTER OF INVEREIGHTY
He stood within the flooded trench,The water reached his knee,His feet seemed like twa icebergs sunkDeep in an Arctic sea;His heart was cold; his hands were coldAnd dead as granite blocks:"Lord! What would I no gi'e the nichtFor a clean pair o' socks!"
He stood within the tottering trench,The water touched his thigh;His wits were wander'ed, wanting sleep,But down he daurna lie;His blood seemed frozen; "Lord," he cried,"Could I but slip my fitIn saft, warm woolly socks, the kindMy mither used to knit!"
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