For Time, stern judge of Us, has donned his black cloth,
And to the Mob delivered up the Few ...
Unless, of course, the Mob’s but swapped its Peers
For a worse dynasty—of profiteers.
God knows, we had our faults—greed, blindness, pride.
God also knows we had a dashed good time.
Were they the worse for that—our boys who died,
By earth and air and sea in every clime?
God knows! But if ghost-feet still strut and side
About their clubs, if ghost-eyes read this rhyme,