'Blighters'

The House is crammed: tier beyond tier they grin 

And cackle at the Show, while prancing ranks 

Of harlots shrill the chorus, drunk with din; 

‘We’re sure the Kaiser loves our dear old Tanks!’ 

I’d like to see a Tank come down the stalls,

Lurching to rag-time tunes, or ‘Home, sweet Home’, 

And there’d be no more jokes in Music-halls 

To mock the riddled corpses round Bapaume.