Classic Poem

They are spouting on the platform,
They are droning in the Club,
They are clacking o'er their knitting,
They are skiting in the pub.
They are talking Big in nations,
And they won't put in the peg
Who don't know the map of Europe
From a dog's hind leg!

O they talk you blind and silly,
And their buzz would addle eggs
When they speak of " Mons " and " Lily " ,
And Liege (pronounce it " Legs " ).
Wherever they may drivel,
They will aye come back again
By way of Schleswig-Holstein
To " Awl-socks-Lawrain " .

The chattering Red Cross ladies
Are disposing of it, too;
They're jumping at conclusions,
As wimmen always do!
It's " My deah, you know, the Allies ,
I am very much afraid,
Would have lost this war if Turkey
Hadn't come to our aid! "

And the flappers fluff and snivel,
Where the washy tea is poured;
They pretend to have a cousin
Or something else " abrawd " ;
They are perfectly sus-certain,
In spite of Pa and Ma,
That something must have happened
To the dear (choke) Australiah !

And suburban fathers thunder,
The family cheers to win:
" Why don't England make reprisals?
Why don't she just wade in?
We ain't satisfied , I tell you,
With the conduct of the war! "
And he writes demanding reasons
From the ed-it-or.

And the editor is sitting,
Mild and patient, even now,
Fingers cramped and body weary,
Aching eyes and throbbing brow;
The proofs are piled beside him,
And the office map hath he —
He is back at school and learning
His ge-og-ra-phee.