Slept under the same handkerchief,
Me ’n’ Slim—clean through from the word go!
I’m liable to forgit—ain’t I—
Day we kicked off west o’ Château-Thierry
Down the valley—
Poppies—say,
You couldn’t rest for poppies.
Then the Jerries cut loose
Machine-gun fire—reg’lar sickle.
Poppy leaves—bits o’ red