‘E’s sich a coot for takin’ sides, as I sez to Doreen. 
Sez she, “’Ow can ’e, by ’imself ?” Wotever that may mean. 
  My wife sez little things sometimes that nearly git me riled. 
  I knoo she meant more than she said be that soft way she smiled.

To-day, when I was ‘arrowin’, Poole comes down to the fence
To get the loan uv my long spade; an’ uses that pretence
  To ‘ave a bit uv friendly talk, an’ one word leads to more,
  As is the way with ole man Poole, as I’ve remarked before.

The spade reminds ’im ’ow ‘e done some diggin’ in ’is day,
An’ diggin’ brings the talk to earth, an’ earth leads on to clay,
  Then clay quite natural reminds a thinkin’ bloke uv bricks,
  An’ mortar brings up mud, an’ then, uv course, it’s politics.

Now, Poole sticks be ‘is Party, an’ I don’t deny ’is right;
But when ‘e starts abusin’ mine ‘e’s lookin’ for a fight. 
  So I delivers good ’ome truths about ’is crowd; then Poole
  Wags ‘is ole beard across the fence an’ tells me I’m a fool.

Now, that’s the dizzy limit; so I lays aside the reins,
An’ starts to prove ‘e’s storin’ mud where most blokes keeps
       their brains. 
 ’E decorates ‘is answers, an’ we’re goin’ it ding-dong,
  When this returned bloke, Digger Smith, comes sauntering along.

Poole’s gripped the fence as though ’e means to tear the rails
     in two,
An’ eyes my waggin’ finger like ’e wants to ’ave a chew. 
  Then Digger Smith ‘e grins at Poole, an’ then ’e looks at me,
  An’ sez, quite soft an’ friendly-like, “Winnin’ the war?” sez ’e.

Now, Poole deserves it, an’ I’m pleased the lad give ’im that jolt. 
’E goes fair mad in argument when once ’e gets a holt. 
 “Yeh make me sad,” sez Digger Smith; “the both uv you,” sez ’e. 
 “The both uv us!  Gawstruth!” sez I.  “You ain’t includin’ me?”

“Well, it takes two to make a row,” sez little Digger Smith. 
“A bloke can’t argue ’less ’e ’as a bloke to argue with. 
  I’ve come ’ome from a dinkum scrap to find this land uv light
  Is chasin’ its own tail around an’ callin’ it a fight.

“We’ve seen a thing or two, us blokes ’oo’ve fought on many fronts;
An’ we’ve ‘ad time to think a bit between the fightin’ stunts. 
  We’ve seen big things, an’ thought big things, an’ all the
       silly fuss,
  That used to get us rattled once, seems very small to us.

“An’ when a bloke’s fought for a land an’ gets laid on the shelf
It pains ’im to come ‘ome an’ find it scrappin’ with itself;
  An’ scrappin’ all for nothin’, or for things that look so
      small—­
  To us, ’oo’ve been in bigger things, they don’t seem reel at all.

“P’r’aps we ’ave ‘ad some skite knocked out, an’ p’r’aps we see
     more clear,
But seems to us there’s plenty cleanin’-up to do round ’ere. 
  We’ve learnt a little thing or two, an’ we ’ave unlearnt ’eaps,
  An’ silly partisans, with us, is counted out for keeps.