Classic Poem

I oft go out at night-time
When all the sky's a-flare
And little lights of battle
Are dancing in the air.

I use my pick and shovel
To dig a little hole,
And there I sit till morning—
A listening-patrol.

A silly little sickle
Of moon is hung above;
Within a pond beside me
The frogs are making love:

I see the German sap-head;
A cow is lying there,
Its belly like a barrel,
Its legs are in the air.

The big guns rip like thunder,
The bullets whizz o'erhead,
But o'er the sea in England
Good people lie abed.

And over there in England
May every honest soul
Sleep sound while we sit watching
On listening patrol.