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Tale # 35
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Tale # 35 |
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Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA 
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Ah, how I hate the grit an' dust- Wha' come in desert lands. The thirst, the burn, the smarting eyes… The dry and cracking 'ands. The bloody wogs wi' sword and gun… The outpost long forgot… An' legionaires the Frenchmen sent, An' left out 'ere to rot. Scurvy, aye, no fruit about- The water scarce an' bad… When yer pinned down, for near a week, No water to be 'ad… 'Twill make the foulest smellin' scum Like nectar to the taste. An' make men fight like ravin' wolves An' not one drop to waste. Aye, fought I did, a legionaire… Stranger's we were called, For money, for adventure, or… For nothing we did fall. I've breathed the dry North Afric air… Eat bread, drunk water stale… For wha'? I dinna really ken, So goes the Traveler's Tale. |
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| © Copyright 2009 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
This describes exactly how I feel about the desert but being from he Northwest I guess that's to be expected. I never understood why anyone would volunteer to fight in the desert. Ida |
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Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
I like the desert, but I have never really been thirsty. Lucky, I am. Alison |
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