The Sergeant of a Highland Reg- <br />-Iment was drilling of his men; <br />With temper notably on edge <br />He blest them every now and then. <br />A sweet old lady standing by, <br />Was looking on with fascination, <br />And then she dared this question shy, <br />That pertubates the Celtic nation. <br /> <br />"Oh gentle Sergeant do not scold; <br />Please tell me, though your tone so curt is: <br />These bare-legged boys look sadly cold - <br />Do they wear wool beneath their skirties? <br />The Sergeant's face grew lobster red, <br />As one who sends a bloke to blazes . . . <br />Then: "round about turn, squad," he said; <br />"Now blast you! bend and pick up daises."<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-enigma/
