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LAVENDER.

I'm tickled by a pansy, wot's called an 'Appy Thought;
I'm gone on yaller "Glories" of the proper smelly sort;
And once I 'eld gerani-ums was grander than the rest,
But now I likes the lavender, the simple-lookin' lavender,
A little bit o' lavender the best.

My mate 'e'd been a gardener; 'is roses wasn't beat;
'Is marrers was a marvel and 'is strorberries a treat;
But w'en 'e leave 'is corliflow'rs an' lettuce to enlist,
'E said it was the lavender, 'is blinkin' bit o' lavender,
A silly patch o' lavender 'e missed.

In France I used to foller 'im to gather up the bits;
'E "'adn't 'eard" o' snipers and 'e "wasn't 'eedin'" Fritz;
Till in a slip o' garden by the Convent 'e was copped,
And dahn among the lavender, the trodden sodden lavender,
The bloody muddy lavender 'e dropped.

A job it was to fix 'im up and do a double bunk,
But 'e was chattin' casual while I was oozin' funk;
'E yarned abaht the bits o' things 'e used to see at Kew,
An' told me of the lavender, the tidy lot of lavender,
The leagues an' leagues o' lavender 'e grew.

They book 'im through to Blighty and 'e drop a line from 'ome,
Comparin' clay in Flanders with the proper British loam;