Colin F. Jones


Whimsical contenders for a higher rank,
Oft made the soldier the nature of his prank,
To justify the “pips” upon his arm,
Giving him false illusions of definitive charm.
Not called soldiers nor addressed as men,
Some were both and some were foul and fen.
Hard work and boredom fills the soldier’s time,
In dirt and dust that sweat turns into grime,
Digging trenches in the hard packed earth,
And filling sandbags with a raucous mirth.
And oft grenades were lobbed inside of tents,
To blow the “pips” out through the rips and rents,
For those who thought themselves above reproach,
Were oft quite changed by the threat of this approach.