Boots (poema)

Imagem: Ember Adored · BY-NC-SA · Openverse

Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin' over Africa -- (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!) Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an'-twenty mile to-day Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before -- (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again!) Don't—don't—don't—don't—look at what's in front of you. (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again); Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin' em, Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers. If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o' you! (Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up and down again) -- We—can—stick—out—'unger, thirst, an' weariness, But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of 'em, Boot—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again, 'Taint—so—bad—by—day because o' company, But night—brings—long—strings—o' forty thousand million Boots—boots—boots—boots—movin' up an' down again. I—'ave—marched—six—weeks in 'Ell an' certify It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,