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This poem is often wrongly thought to be by Robert W Service. It is published here to the memory of Hugh Antoine D'Arcy, its rightful father.
An Evening with the Bard of the Yukon, July 18 th 2003 at 20.30pm in the Town-Hall of Lancieux, Brittany.
All Entries 1997 - 2002
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The Monster

Published by Susan on 08/02/2003 (2802 reads)
When we might make with happy heart...

When we might make with happy heart
      This world a paradise,
With bombs we blast brave men apart,
      With napalm carbonize.
Where we might till the sunny soil,
      And sing for joy of life,
We spend our treasure and our toil
            In bloody strife.

The fields of wheat are sheening gold,
      The flocks have silver fleece;
The signs are sweetly manifold
      Of plenty, praise and peace.
Yet see! The sky is like a cowl
      Where grimy toilers bore
The shards of steel that feed the foul
            Red maw of War.

Instead of butter give us guns;
      Instead of sugur, shells.
Devoted mothers, bear your sons
      To glut still hotter hells
.
Alas! When will mad mankind wake
      To banish evermore,
And damn for God in Heaven's sake
      Mass Murder--WAR?


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