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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374772" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Marshal Neigh, V.C.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He came from tumbled country past the <br>humps of Buffalo <br>Where the snow sits on the mountain 'n' the <br>Summer aches below. <br>He'd a silly name like Archie. Squattin' <br>sullen on the ship, <br>He knew nex' to holy nothin' through the gor- <br>forsaken trip. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No thoughts he had of women, no refreshin' <br>talk of beer; <br>If he'd battled, loved, or suffered vital facts <br>did not appear; <br>But the parsons and the poets couldn't teach <br>him to discourse <br>When it come to pokin' guyver at a pore, <br>deluded horse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If nags got sour 'n' kicked agin the rules of <br>things at sea, <br>Artie argued matters with 'em, 'n' he'd kid <br>'em up a tree. <br>“Here's a pony got hystericks. Pipe the word <br>for Privit Rowe,” <br>The Sargint yapped, 'n' all the ship came <br>cluckin' to the show. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'd chat him confidential, 'n' he'd pet 'n' <br>paw the moke; <br>He'd tickle him, 'n' flatter him, 'n' try him <br>with a joke; <br>'N' presently that neddy sobers up, 'n' sez <br>“Ive course, <br>Since you puts it that way, cobber, I will be <br>a better horse.” </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was one pertickler whaler, known <br>aboard ez Marshal Neigh, <br>Whose monkey tricks with Privit Rowe was <br>better than a play. <br>He'd done stunts in someone's circus, 'n' he <br>loved a merry bout, <br>Whirlin' in to bust his boiler, or to kick <br>the bottom out. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rowe he sez: “Well, there's an idjit! Oh, <br>yes, let her whiz, you beauty! <br>Where's yer 'orse sense, little feller? Where's <br>yer bloomin' sense iv duty? <br>Well, you orter serve yer country!” Then <br>there'd come a painful hush, <br>'N' that nag would drop his head-piece, 'n', so <br>'elp me cat, he'd blush. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We was heaped ashore be Suez, rifle, horse, <br>'n' man, 'n' tent, <br>Where the land is sand, the water, 'n' the <br>gory firmament. <br>We had intervals iv longin', we had sweaty <br>spells of work <br>In the ash-pit iv Gehenner, dumbly waitin' <br>fer the Turk. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We goes driftin' on the desert, nothin' doin', <br>nothin' said, <br>Till we get to think we're nowhere, 'n' arf <br>fancy we are dead, <br>'N' the only 'uman interest on the red hori- <br>zon's brim <br>Is Marshal Neigh's queer faney fer the lad <br>that straddles him. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Plain-livin's nearly, bored us stiff. The Major <br>calls on Rowe <br>To devise an entertainment. What his <br>charger doesn't know <br>Isn't in the regulations. Him 'n' Rowe is <br>brothers met, <br>'N' that horse's sense iv humor is the oddest <br>fancy yet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the Turk arrives one mornin' on the outer <br>edge iv space. <br>From back iv things his guns is floppin' kegs <br>about the place, <br>'N' Privit Artie Rowe along with others iv <br>the force <br>Goes pig-rootin' inter battle, holdin' converse <br>with his horse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Little Abdul's quite a fighter, 'n' he mixes it <br>with skill; <br>But the Anzacs have him snouted,, 'n', oh, <br>ma, he's feelin' ill. <br>They wake the all-fired desert, 'n' the land for <br>ever dead <br>Is alive 'n' fairly creepin', and the skies are <br>droppin' lead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When they've got the Ot'man goin', little <br>gaudy hunts begin. <br>It fer us to chiv His Trousers. 'n' to round <br>the stragglers in. <br>Cuttin' closest to the raw, 'n' swearin' lovin' <br>all the way, <br>Is Artie from Molinga on his neddy, Marshal <br>Neigh. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We're pursuin' sundry camels turkey-trottin' <br>anyhow <br>With the carriage iv an emu 'n' the action iv <br>a cow, <br>When a sand dune busts, 'n' belches arf a <br>million iv the foe. <br>They uncork a blanky batt'ry, 'n' it's, Allah, <br>let her go! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We're not stayin' dinner, thank you. Lie <br>along yer horse 'n' yell, <br>While the bullets pip yer britches 'n' you <br>sniff the flue of Hell. <br>Here it is that Artie takes it good 'n' solid in <br>the crust, <br>He dives from out the saddle, 'n' is swallered <br>in the dust. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I got through 'n' saw them pointin' where the <br>Marshal faced the band. <br>He was goin' where we came from, sniffin' <br>bodies in the sand. <br>Till he found Rowe snugglin' under, took him <br>where his pants was slack, <br>'N' be all the Asiatic gods, he brought his <br>soldier back! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With a bullet in his buttock, 'n' a drill hole <br>in his ear, <br>He dumped Artie down among us. Square <br>'n' all, how did we cheer! <br>There's no medals struck fer neddies, but we <br>rule there orter be, <br>'N' the pride iv all the Light Horse is old <br>Marshal Neigh, V.C.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edward+George+Dyson">Edward George Dyson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374772" data-title="Marshal Neigh, V.C. de Edward George Dyson" data-description="He came from tumbled country past the 
humps of Buffalo 
Where the snow sits on the mountain 'n' the 
Summer aches below. 
He'd a silly name like Archie. Squattin' 
sullen on the ship, 
He knew nex' to holy nothin' through the gor- 
forsaken trip...."></div>
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