Started on their journey northward,
On their journey to the trenches;
Every night at dusk they started,
Marched with full packs through the darkness
(No one talking, no one smoking),
Plodded onward through the darkness,
And, perhaps at two ac emma,
Reached a barren piece of waste land,
Found their mules and fetched their blankets,
Dossed down with the stars for ceiling,