IF I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, Reading the Roll of Honour. 'Poor young chap,' I'd say -- 'I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap.' And when the war is done and youth stone dead, I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH ON THE MONUMENT OF SIR WILLIAM DYER by KATHERINE DYER JEWISH HYMN IN BABYLON by HENRY HART MILMAN LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM by THOMAS MOORE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 12 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE HAUNTED PALACE by EDGAR ALLAN POE THE COMPLAINT OF THE FAIR ARMOURESS by FRANCOIS VILLON POPULAR BALLAD: NEVER FORGET YOUR PARENTS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |