He was battle-scarred and ugly with the marks of shot and shell, <br />And we knew that British Tommy had a stirring tale to tell, <br />So we asked him where he got it and what disarranged his face, <br />And he answered, blushing scarlet: 'In a nawsty little place.' <br /> <br />There were medals on his jacket, but he wouldn't tell us why. <br />'A bit lucky, gettin' this one,' was the sum of his reply. <br />He had fought a horde of Prussians with his back against the wall, <br />And he told us, when we questioned: 'H'it was nothing arfter h'all.' <br /> <br />Not a word of what he'd suffered, not a word of what he'd seen, <br />Not a word about the fury of the hell through which he'd been. <br />All he said was: 'When you're cornered, h'and you've got no plyce to go, <br />You've just got to stand up to it! You cawn't 'elp yourself, you know. <br /> <br />'H'it was just a bit unpleasant, when the shells were droppin' thick,' <br />And he tapped his leather leggins with his little bamboo stick. <br />'What did H'I do? Nothing, really! Nothing more than just my share; <br />Some one h'else would gladly do it, but H'I 'appened to be there.' <br /> <br />When this sturdy British Tommy quits the battlefields of earth <br />And St. Peter asks his spirit to recount his deeds of worth, <br />I fancy I can hear him, with his curious English drawl, <br />Saying: 'Nothing, nothing really, that's worth mentioning at h'all.'<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tommy-atkins-way/
