XXII

The morning is clean and blue and the wind blows up the clouds:

Now my thoughts gathered from afar

Once again in their patched armour, with rusty plumes and blunted swords,

Move out to war.

Smoking our morning pipes we shall ride two and two

Through the woods.

For our old cause keeps us together,

And our hatred is so precious not death or defeat can break it.

God willing, we shall this day meet that old enemy

Who has given us so many a good beating.

Thank God we have a cause worth fighting for,

And a cause worth losing and a good song to sing.