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From the field kitchen he did troop

With two canisters filled with soup

His feet felt old and his aching limbs felt numb

He had promised his mates with soup he'd come

So alone he continued through trenches and raped earth

Concentrating on not spilling soup for all he was worth

But the way it was long and the burden was great

Stray bombs landed near, was he now tempting fate

Reasonably quiet on the front but he knew snipers well

Though the land seemed dead still they would dwell

Before the war he was a wanderer, a swagman if you will

Humping his drum through valleys, plains and over hill

His Billy on his swag had now popped into his head

For similar was the containers that now weighed him down like lead

A stray shell landed near and his mind returned to the job

He quickened his awkward walk as his heart began to throb

When a shell landed nearer and a container was rent asunder

He stared in disbelief then his cursed raped the air like thunder

He sat the last one down and took a little rest

The freight it had knocked the wind from his chest

He rubbed his eyes and it seemed rather strange to him

That his usually faultless vision was now going dim

He was now confused at where he was, why was he sitting down?

Why was he dressed in khaki, what's this red fluid on the ground?

He had not felt the shrapnel that had torn a hole in his side

In the mud of a ruined trench he closed his eyes and died