The Fathers

 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,
The 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.

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