# 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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