I call to mind voenkomat1:
- For landing forces aren’t fit, mate!
- Not up to it - it would have been too bad for health!
- What soldier can be out of you?
- Right to a hospital, I view!
Of me a soldier is as of somebody else.

And at the war - means at a war;
To me it comes off two times more,
The blouse adhered, and because of boots - a sore;
I lagged behind, did not keep pace,
But in some fight, - can’t catch the case, -
My sergeant-major treated me as not a raw.

...The trench chaps want to have some fun:
- Hey, student, what is one plus one?
- Come on - was really Tolstoy of counts born?
- And who was actually his wife?
My sergeant-major’s twisted knife:
- You are not saint to have not kip: a clash at morn.

And once, when I stood up upright
While playing down the death fight,
- Lie down! - he barked, and stuck at further foul cry, -
- What need to have two holes in head?
And gently asked: Is it true that
In Moscow houses can be five stories high?

A burst has rolled, and he has groaned,
In him a splinter’s getting cold;
A chance to answer to his question I have missed.
He’s lain to earth for five steps’ worth,
Just for five nights and for some mirth;
Is to the West his head, his feet are to the East.