Seven, little fellows, thinking of their sins.

It was ours like blinded snails to prowl the
soggy, slimy night,
With a feeler pricking out at every pore
For the death that stalks in darkness, or the
blinking stab of light,
And the other trifling matters that are war.

That's the stuff to get your liver, that's the
acid on a man,
For it tries his hones, and seeks his marrow
throngh.
You have got the thought to comfort you that
life is but a span,
If Fritz squirts his loathly limelight over
you.

We got back again at daybreak. Cobber
ducked to doss and said,
From the soft, embracing mud: "No more
I'll roam.
"Oh, thank Heaven, blokes," he murmured,
"for the comforts of a bed!
Gorstruth, but ain't it good to have a
home!"



MICKIE MOLLYNOO.