The Next War

The long war had ended. Its miseries had grown faded. Deaf men became difficult to talk to, Heroes became bores. Those alchemists Who had converted blood into gold Had grown elderly. But they held a meeting, Saying, 'We think perhaps we ought To put up tombs Or erect altars To those brave lads Who were so willingly burnt, Or blinded, Or maimed, Who lost all likeness to a living thing, Or were blown to bleeding patches of flesh For our sakes. It would look well. Or we might even educate the children.' But the richest of these wizards Coughed gently; And he said: 'I have always been to the front -In private enterprise-, I yield in public spirit To no man. I think yours is a very good idea -A capital idea- And not too costly . . . But it seems to me That the cause for which we fought Is again endangered. What more fitting memorial for the fallen Than that their children Should fall for the same cause?' Rushing eagerly into the street, The kindly old gentlemen cried To the young: 'Will you sacrifice Through your lethargy What your fathers died to gain ? The world must be made safe for the young!' And the children Went. . . .