Ruins in Rome are four a penny, And here along the Appian Way I see the monuments of many Esteemed almighty in their day. .… Or so he makes me understand —

How often have I started out With no thought in my noodle, And wandered here and there about, Where fancy bade me toddle; Till feeling faunlike in my glee

Jack would laugh an’ joke all day; Never saw a lad so gay; Singin’ like a medder lark, Loaded to the Plimsoll mark With God’s sunshine was that boy;

It’s not for laws I’ve broken That bitter tears I’ve wept, But solemn vows I’ve spoken And promises unkept; It’s not for sins committed

Lolling on a bank of thyme Drunk with Spring I made this rhy… Though peoples perish in defeat, And races suffer to survive, The sunshine never was so sweet,

He was our leader and our guide; He was our saviour and our star. We walked in friendship by his sid… Yet set him where our heroes are. He taught disdain of fame and weal…

They say that rhyme and rhythm are Outmoded now. I do not know, for I am far From high of brow. But if the twain you take away,

(The French “Tommy”). Oh, some of us lolled in the chate… And some of us slinked in the slum… But now we are here with a song an… To serve at the sign of the drum.

He was my best and oldest friend. I’d known him all my life. And yet I’m sure towards the end He knew I loved his wife, And wonder, wonder if it’s why

Sitting in the dentist’s chair, Wishing that I wasn’t there, To forget and pass the time I have made this bit of rhyme. I had a rendez—vous at ten;

“I’m taking pen in hand this night… My poor old fingers tremble so, my… And even with my glasses on I’m t… You’d little know your mother, boy… You mind how brisk and bright I w…

Said Lenin’s ghost to Stalin’s gh… “Mate with me in the Tomb; Then day by day the rancid host May gaze upon our doom. A crystal casket we will share;

Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark. When wearily I lie,

I wish that I could understand The moving marvel of my Hand; I watch my fingers turn and twist, The supple bending of my wrist, The dainty touch of finger—tip,

A mattock high he swung; I watched him at his toil; With never gulp of lung He gashed the ruddy soil. Thought I, I’d give my wealth