SNUG at the club two fathers sat, Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat. One of them said: 'My eldest lad Writes cheery letters from Bagdad. But Arthur's getting all the fun At Arras with his nine-inch gun.' 'Yes,' wheezed the other, 'that's the luck! My boy's quite broken-hearted, stuck In England training all this year. Still, if there's truth in what we hear, Huns intend to ask for more Before they bolt across the Rhine.' I watched them toddle through the door -- These impotent old friends of mine. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA by ALFRED TENNYSON TO HIS MISTRESS; AN ODE by ANACREON BOTHWELL: PART 5 by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN THE SHEPHERD O' THE FARM by WILLIAM BARNES ECHOES OF SPRING: 10 by MATHILDE BLIND BABYLONIAN LYRIC by GORDON BOTTOMLEY DARTMOOR: SUNSET AT CHAGFORD: HOMO LOQVITUR by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |