II. THE CONVERSATION

By John Collings Squire

When we've greeted each other again,

And you've filled your pipe and sat down and stretched your legs,

You will look in the fire for a minute

And then you will say, with a yawn,

“Well, when do you think this damned war will be over?”

And I shall say nothing, or something as empty as nothing.

But I am forgetting.

We shall not greet each other again;

You will not ask that question again.