* NATURE FAILS *

You can eas'ly understand

That the green of medder-land

Does n't strike the bloke that‘ as to push the roller;

An’ Nature at the best,

When you put‘ er to the test,

Undiluted, is a very poor consoler.

An’ the blue of summer skies

‘ As no beauties for the eyes

Of defaulters on parade in marchin’ order;

An’ the rainiest of morns

Brings no feelin's —‘ cept to corns,

Of a feller pickin’ oakum with a warder.

Wot's the beauty of the spot,

When you're bein’ drilled with shot?

Wot is Nature when you're checked for bein’ dirty?

An’ eternity's a blank

To a feller on the crank,

When ev'ry blessed minute seems like thirty!

Bein’ punished for your deeds,

On fatig’ a-pickin’ weeds,

Can a bloke admire the beauties of the clover?

Does the sunset on the‘ ills

Give defaulters any thrills

Except to know the day is nearly over.

Bein’ frog-marched to the clink,

Does a feller stop to think

On the grass before‘ is eyes so swif'ly runnin’,

‘ Ow that ev'ry single blade

Is most wonderfully made

Wiv a skill beyond all artificial cunnin’?

An’ you cannot pant for wars

When you're scrubbin’ barrack floors,

Or get inspired on bully-beef an’ biscuit:

It requires a poet's soul

When a feller's cartin’ coal

To think‘ isself in danger, an’ to risk it.

Does a feller care a D —

For the friskin’ of a lamb,

When‘ e‘ as to watch the friskin’ thro’ a gratin’?

Does the lowin’ of the‘ erds,

Or the twitterin’ of the birds,

Soothe a feller when for punishment‘ e's waitin’?