Ballad of the Three Spectres

As I went up by Ovillers

   In mud and water cold to the knee,

There went three jeering, fleering spectres,

   That walked abreast and talked of me.

 

The first said, ‘Here’s a right brave soldier

   That walks the dark unfearingly;

Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher,

   And laughing for a nice Blighty.’

 

The second, ‘Read his face, old comrade,

   No kind of lucky chance I see;

One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow,

   Then look his last on Picardie.’

 

Though bitter the word of these first twain

   Curses the third spat venomously;

‘He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning

   Then live one hour of agony.’

 

Liars the first two were. Behold me

   At sloping arms by one – two – three;

Waiting the time I shall discover

   Whether the third spake verity.