FIDDLER'S GREEN POEM
HALFWAY DOWN THE ROAD TO HELL
IN A SHADY MEADOW GREEN
ARE THE SOULS OF ALL DEAD TROOPERS CAMPED
NEAR A GOOD OLD-TIME CANTEEN.
AND THIS ETERNAL RESTING PLACE
IS KNOWN AS FIDDLERS GREEN.
MARCHING PAST, STRAIGHT THROUGH TO HELL,
THE INFANTRY ARE SEEN
ACCOMPANIED BY THE ENGINEERS, ARTILLERY AND MARINE.
FOR NONE BUT THE SHADES OF CAVALRYMEN
DISMOUNT AT FIDDLER'S GREEN
THOUGH SOME G0 CURVING DOWN THE TRAIL
TO SEEK A WARMER SCENE,
NO TROOPER EVER GETS TO HELL
ERE HE'S EMPTIED HIS CANTEEN,
AND SO RIDE BACK TO DRINK AGAIN
WITH FRIENDS AT FIDDLER'S GREEN.
AND SO WHEN MAN AND HORSE GO DOWN
BENEATH A SABER KEEN,
OR IN A ROARING CHARGE OR FIERCE MELEE
YOU STOP A BULLET CLEAN,
AND THE HOSTILES COME TO GET YOUR SCALP,
JUST EMPTY YOUR CANTEEN,
AND PUT YOUR PISTOL TO YOUR HEAD
AND G0 TO FIDDLERS GREEN.
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