Poetry Archives

The boys came back. Bands played and flags were flying,
  And Yellow-Pressmen thronged the sunlit street
To cheer the soldiers who’d refrained from dying,
  And hear the music of returning feet.
“Of all the thrills and ardours War has brought,
  This moment is the finest.” (So they thought.)

Snapping their bayonets on to charge the mob,
  Grim Fusiliers broke ranks with glint of steel.
At last the boys had found a cushy job.
        *       *       *       *       *
  I heard the Yellow-Pressmen grunt and squeal;
And with my trusty bombers turned and went
To clear those Junkers out of Parliament.