THE SAGA OF THE OLDEST KRIEGIE OH WERE YOU OUT IN THE GRIM NORTH EAST WAY UP ON THE BALTIC SHORE WHERE THE WINTER NIGHTS ARE SIX MONTHS LONG AND THE DAYS ARE EVEN MORE WHERE THE BITTER BLAST, A SNOW TOOTHED FIEND HOWLS DOWN FROM THE RUSSIAN STEPPES WHERE SOCKS GET FROZEN TO THE FEET AND THE HANDS ARE COVERED IN CHAPPES WHERE THE GREAT WHITE SILENCE COVERS ALL AND THE ONLY SOUND THEY SAY IS THE SONG OF THE DROSKI SINGING HIS LOVE IN THE MOUNTAINS FAR AWAY THAT’S WHERE THE OLDEST KRIEGIE LIVES A MAN BOTH SEER AND HOARY LIVING ON NUTTY AND POLAR BEAR SOUP THE HEAD OF THIS STORY TWAS MANY YEARS AGO WAY BACK IN 1940 THAT THE OLDEST KRIEGIE IN HIS PLANE EMBARKED UPON A SORTIE TWAS THE SORTA SORTIE A BRAVE MAN SHUNS AND THE COWARD RUNS AWAY FROM THE KIND OUR HERO HOPED TO CHRIST HE'D LIVE TO DRAW HIS PAY FROM IN THE BRIGHT MOONLIGHT OF A SUMMER NIGHT OUR HERO CROSSED THE SEA HE BOMBED THE TARGET AND TURNED FOR HOME BUT WAS JUMPED BY A LONE M.E. AND THEN THERE CAME A WARY TIME A TIME MOST WONDROUS TIRING THEY TOOK HIM TO A KRIEGIE CAMP ALL RINGED ABOUT WITH WIRING THEY COUNTED OH THEY COUNTED HIM BY DAY AS WELL AS NIGHT SIDEWAY DIAGONALLY BACKWARDS BUT THEY COULDN’T GET IT RIGHT AT LAST THEY HIT UPON A WHEEZE THAT SEEMED BOTH CUTE AND NEAT THEY FELL THE KRIEGIES IN AGAIN AND COUNTED ALL THEIR FEET AND WHEN THE FEET WERE COUNTED THEY DIVIDED THEM BY TWO BUT STILL THE ANSWER WASN'T RIGHT SO THEY THOUGHT OF SOMETHING NEW THEY WENT AND GOT EXCITED AND SHOUTED WITH MUCH ZEST BUT IT DIDN'T DO THEM ANY GOOD FOR THE KRIEGIE'S WEREN'T IMPRESSED THEN THEY LINED UP ALL THE KRIEGIES AT A TIME WHEN MOST FOLKS SLEEP AND MADE THEM FILE BETWEEN TWO POSTS SO THE KRIEGIES BAAED LIKE SHEEP AND WHEN THE COUNT WAS FINISHED AND THEY ADDED UP THE SCORE THEY FOUND THEY'D FAR MORE KRIEGIES THAN THEY'D EVER HAD BEFORE FOR IN A WELL RUN KRIEGIE CAMP YOU MAY GET LOTS OF FUN BUT NO FUN QUITE AS POPULAR AS MUCKING UP THE HUN anon
Summer days in June. <O:p></O:p> Do ghostly battles rage across The misty fields of France? And if we listen closely now? hear the sounds of their advance. <O:p></O:p> Do the ghosts of the infantry, in open battle order march? Was that a man’s last despairing scream, across the river marsh? <O:p></O:p> All at once a hot steel splinter, Quick sudden spurts of blood. Flesh flayed down to ivory bone, Soaks the blood bespattered mud. <O:p></O:p> In that quiet moment of early dawn, The sounds of war, now so far away. Are wounded here? Crying to be saved. That was long ago, on a summer’s day. <O:p></O:p> And yet in this quiet lonely moment, When all natures voice came still, Across the ripe swaying corn fields, The Bocage! where we came to kill. <O:p></O:p> Yet, I still hear the guns of Normandy. That was long ago, in the distant past, The loss of friends, when we were young, Their memory forever lasts. Sapper The long summer of 1944 Monty’s Ironsides. <O:p></O:p> <O:p></O:p>
And another The prison camp so grim and bare Within the hated wire In barracks prisoners drawn and grey Crouch huddled round the fire What will the German verdict be? What will their minds conspire? Outside the rain in torrents fall Heavens ripped open wide Hell! The suspense is terrible If only we could hide At last, long blasts, the silence breaks Thank God! Roll calls inside.