The Raining
THE night I left my father said:
“You’ll go and do some stupid thing.
You’ve no more sense in that fat head
Than silly Billy Witterling.
”Not sense to come in when it rains—
Not sense enough for that, you’ve got.
You’ll get a bullet through your brains,
Before you know, as like as not.”
And now I’m lying in the trench
And shells and bullets through the night
Are raining in a steady drench,
I’m thinking the old man was right.
