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...FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST SANTA FE SKETCHES by CARL SANDBURG ULTIMA VERITAS by WASHINGTON GLADDEN THE RETORT by GEORGE POPE MORRIS EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by MATTHEW PRIOR SONNET: 30 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE YOUTH WITH RED-GOLD HAIR by EDITH SITWELL |