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TO BASIL, A BAVARIAN BOMBER
In Memory of the Barricades in the Labyrinth
IN that remembered and unpleasant spot,
Where ’twas my task to haunt the barricade,
To hurl the bomb and give it to you hot
For every little tiny sound you made.
Oh, Basil, when at first your bombs returned,
Our martial spirits quickened and we burned
To land you one—the very batmen yearned
For that decease of yours too long delayed.
Where ’twas my task to haunt the barricade,
To hurl the bomb and give it to you hot
For every little tiny sound you made.
Oh, Basil, when at first your bombs returned,
Our martial spirits quickened and we burned
To land you one—the very batmen yearned
For that decease of yours too long delayed.
And it was very galling, when we threw
Grenades that might have chilled the stoutest’s blood,
Only to hear that plaintive call from you,
Informing us it was another dud.
And when the gent from the Brigade was nigh,
Watching our Millses’ fizzing through the sky,
To see you hit him neatly in the eye
With little well-aimed lumps of harmless mud.
Grenades that might have chilled the stoutest’s blood,
Only to hear that plaintive call from you,
Informing us it was another dud.
And when the gent from the Brigade was nigh,
Watching our Millses’ fizzing through the sky,
To see you hit him neatly in the eye
With little well-aimed lumps of harmless mud.
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