Like a great bee he drones aloud;
He whirls above the shrapnel puffs,
And, laughing, ducks behind a cloud.
He rides aloof on god-like wings,
Taking no thought of wire or mud,
Saps, smells or bugs—the mundane things
That sour our lives and have our blood.
Beneath his sky-patrolling car
Toy guns their mimic thunders clap;
Like crawling ants whole armies are