The Old Men Speak
h, we are old and we are tiredWe are not radiant and inspired As those young men who go to war And know what they are fighting tor; And when this bloody war shall cease We know we shall not win the peace, E shuffle cards. We count our coins What time the children of our loins, Lie rotting in some foreign field. To multiply the harvest yield, We hold our lives upon a lease, We know we shall not win the peace. WE set great store on membership Of some old club, maybe. We dip Our hands in Maundy dish and cry In silence: "Master, is it I?" We spare our coats from spot or crease, We know we shall not win the peace, ND yet within our bleak old hearts Is some strange bird that sings and starts When bugles call and music plays, For we were young in former days, And though we perish in our grease, Those lovely boys shall win the peace.
C. R.
Allen
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZLIST19430521.2.15
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New Zealand Listener, Volume 8, Issue 204, 21 May 1943, Page 6
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174The Old Men Speak New Zealand Listener, Volume 8, Issue 204, 21 May 1943, Page 6
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