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Robert W Service - A Song Of Winter Weather
Work rating: Medium

It isn`t the foe that we fear;
    It isn`t the bullets that whine;
It isn`t the business career
    Of a shell, or the bust of a mine;
It isn`t the snipers who seek
    To nip our young hopes in the bud:
No, it isn`t the guns,
And it isn`t the Huns —
    It`s the mud,
                    mud,
                              mud.

It isn`t the melee we mind.
That often is rather good fun.
    It isn`t the shrapnel we find
Obtrusive when rained by the ton;
    It isn`t the bounce of the bombs
That gives us a positive pain:
    It`s the strafing we get
When the weather is wet —
    It`s the rain,
                      rain,
                            rain.

It isn`t because we lack grit
    We shrink from the horrors of war.
We don`t mind the battle a bit;
    In fact that is what we are for;
It isn`t the rum-jars and things
    Make us wish we were back in the fold:
It`s the fingers that freeze
In the boreal breeze —
    It`s the cold,
                    cold,
                            cold.

Oh, the rain, the mud, and the cold,
    The cold, the mud, and the rain;
With weather at zero it`s hard for a hero
    From language that`s rude to refrain.
With porridgy muck to the knees,
    With sky that`s a-pouring a flood,
Sure the worst of our foes
Are the pains and the woes
    Of the rain,
                the cold,
                        and the mud.
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