BLIGHTERS

"BLIGHTERS"

The house is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin


And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks


Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din;


"We're sure the Kaiser loves the dear old Tanks!"

I'd like to see a Tank come down the stalls,


Lurching to rag-time tunes, or "Home, sweet Home,"—


And there'd be no more jokes in Music-halls


To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.