third world county

Comment from Steve Myers
Time March 27, 2008 at 12:24 PM

Victoriana
(Apologies and thanks to Rudyard)

They took us down to Palestine and dropped us in the sand:
The regiment and all our kit, in Major Jones’ command.
We cooked awhile, out in the sun ‘til the Color Sergeant bawls
“Up off yer bloody arses, lads, for Queen an’ country calls!”

So, in smart ranks we gathered there, awaitin’ word to march,
To where a nasty battle waits – but that is just me hunch;
For regiments as such as we ain’t made to dance an’ sing,
And problem solving by the sword is what we always bring.

We are not ‘ere to make a war, but will so, if we must,
We’re marchin’ now, in boiling heat an’irked at breathin’ dust,
The Sergeant-Major keeps an eye upon the trudging troops
Who’s never been to this bleak place, as one lad, or in groups.

The major says we ‘ave a task – whether blessing or a curse,
We’re ‘ere now, in the cauldron, for the better or for worse,
A rumor says the enemy’s the keepers of the sphinx
It matters not; we’ll press him hard, until he stops an’ blinks!

The Widow watches from afar, from palace or at sea,
We lads are penny-whistles in her orchestra –we play
A waltz of war, a skirmish song, a ballad of the bomb,
For encores we ‘ave mortars, an’ we use them with aplomb,

The Widow tells us what she wants and leaves the rest to them
What knows the way to satisfy ‘er general demands,
For we are just the anvil face, the hammer and the tongs,
Who leave Lor’ God to chaplains and minstrels to their songs!

(c) Steve Myers 032708

Comment from David
Time March 27, 2008 at 2:23 PM

Thanks, Steve. While I’ve not yet gotten around to populating this page, I appreciate your offering, and I believe apologies to Kipling’s spirit unecessary in this case. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and you certainly capture the spirit of his Barack Room Ballads (even to the most typical aabb rhyme scheme) in the homage above (while, sure, cribbing a bit ).