Old Man, by your broad contented grin <br />And the gleam in your quiet eyes, <br />You are back with 'Jorrocks' and 'Binjimin' <br />In the land where the good fun lies; <br />You are riding where rifles reach you not <br />On a line both safe and sure <br />From the meet at the 'Cat and Custard Pot' <br />To the kill on Wandermoor. <br />In vain do the cannon of memory call <br />From the Flanders fields forlorn, <br />When you hear by the stacks of Barley Hall <br />The twang of the ''ard un's' horn; <br />And little you reck of a broken thigh <br />And a bandaged arm to boot, <br />When the old comedian canters by <br />On his 'henterpriseless brute.' <br />For, back to you comes each sound and sight <br />At a touch of the magic pen, <br />Till you take your place in the old first flight, <br />With a lead on the grass again, <br />And Surtees, the sage with the jester's art, <br />Would be proud had he lived to know <br />He had brightened an hour for your gallant heart <br />With the ring of his 'Tally-ho!'<br /><br />William Henry Ogilvie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-one-of-our-wounded/
