*Nature Fails*

You can eas'ly understand That the green of medder-land Doesn't strike the bloke that 'as to push the roller; An' Nature at the best, When you put 'er to the test, Undiluted, is a very poor consoler.

An' the blue of summer skies 'As no beauties for the eyes Of defaulters on parade in marchin' order; An' the rainiest of morns Brings no feelin's--'cept to corns, Of a feller pickin' oakum with a warder.

Wot's the beauty of the spot, When you're bein' drilled with shot? Wot is Nature when you're checked for bein' dirty? An' eternity's a blank To a feller on the crank, When ev'ry blessed minute seems like thirty!

Bein' punished for your deeds, On fatig' a-pickin' weeds, Can a bloke admire the beauties of the clover? Does the sunset on the 'ills Give defaulters any thrills Except to know the day is nearly over.

Bein' frog-marched to the clink, Does a feller stop to think On the grass before 'is eyes so swif'ly runnin', 'Ow that ev'ry single blade Is most wonderfully made Wiv a skill beyond all artificial cunnin'?

An' you cannot pant for wars When you're scrubbin' barrack floors, Or get inspired on bully-beef an' biscuit: It requires a poet's soul When a feller's cartin' coal To think 'isself in danger, an' to risk it.

Does a feller care a D-- For the friskin' of a lamb, When 'e 'as to watch the friskin' thro' a gratin'? Does the lowin' of the 'erds, Or the twitterin' of the birds, Soothe a feller when for punishment 'e's waitin'?