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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=374775" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mud</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">This war's a waste of slurry, and its at- <br>mosphere is mud, <br>All is bog from here to sunset. Wadin' <br>through <br>We're the victims of a thicker sort of universal <br>flood, <br>With discomforts that old Noah never knew. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We have dubbed our trench The Cecil. <br>There's a brass-plate and a dome, <br>And a quagmire where the doormat used <br>to be, <br>If you're calling, second Tuesday is our reg'- <br>lar day at home, <br>So delighted if you'll toddle in to tea! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is mud along the corridors enough to <br>bog a cow; <br>In the air there hangs a musty kind of <br>woof; <br>There's a frog-pond in the parlour, and the <br>kitchen is a slough. <br>She has neither doors nor windows, nor a <br>roof. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When they post our bald somnambulist as <br>missing from his flat <br>We take soundings for the digger with a <br>prop. <br>By the day the board is gratis, by the week <br>it's half of that; <br>For the season there's a corresponding drop. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Opening off the spacious hallway is my natty <br>little suite, <br>A commodious and accessible abode. <br>By judicious disposition, with exclusion of <br>my feet, <br>There is sleeping room for Oliver the toad. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though the ventilation's gusty, and in gobs <br>the ceiling falls— <br>Which with oral respiration disagrees— <br>Though there comes a certain quantity of <br>seepage from the walls, <br>There are some I knew in diggings worse <br>than these. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On my right is Cobber Carkeek. There's a <br>spring above his head, <br>And his mattress is a special kind of clay. <br>He's a most punctilious bloke about the <br>fashion of his bed, <br>And he makes it with a shovel every day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man is dust. If so, the Cobber has been <br>puddled up a treat. <br>On domestic sanitation he's a toff, <br>For he lights a fire on Sunday, bakes his sur- <br>face in the heat, <br>Then he takes a little maul, and cracks it <br>off. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">After hanging out a winter in this Cimmerian <br>hole <br>We're forgetting sheets, and baths, and <br>tidy skins. <br>In the dark and deadly calm last night they <br>took us on patrol. <br>Seven, little fellows, thinking of their sins. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was ours like blinded snails to prowl the <br>soggy, slimy night, <br>With a feeler pricking out at every pore <br>For the death that stalks in darkness, or the <br>blinking stab of light, <br>And the other trifling matters that are war. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That's the stuff to get your liver, that's the <br>acid on a man, <br>For it tries his hones, and seeks his marrow <br>throngh. <br>You have got the thought to comfort you that <br>life is but a span, <br>If Fritz squirts his loathly limelight over <br>you. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We got back again at daybreak. Cobber <br>ducked to doss and said, <br>From the soft, embracing mud: “No more <br>I'll roam. <br>“Oh, thank Heaven, blokes,” he murmured, <br>“for the comforts of a bed! <br>Gorstruth, but ain't it good to have a <br>home!”</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=374775" data-title="Mud de Edward George Dyson" data-description="This war's a waste of slurry, and its at- 
mosphere is mud, 
All is bog from here to sunset. Wadin' 
through 
We're the victims of a thicker sort of universal 
flood, 
With discomforts that old Noah never knew. 

We have dubbed our trench The Ceci..."></div>
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