  EVEN a dragon’s teeth decay And then there comes a painful time When morsels won’t be made away: Hence spring this picture and this rhyme Of dragons rather past their prime. A varied menu spread before The hungry Kaiser and his son, From which the royal epicure With other courses chose this one— Paris to follow when ’twas done. A dainty dish the waiter thought To set before a king, or clown; Yet though they gulped and chewed and fought Not sire nor son could get it down— This little, sturdy, ancient town. And, what is more, their appetites, That yesterday were sharp and keen, This wretched dish of Verdun blights: Its toughness they had not foreseen; The cooking’s bad, the inn unclean. “My son, I think we’ll try elsewhere.” “Right O! dear father, so we will. I’m spoiling for a change of air. Don’t let this trifle make you ill: Our cannon fodder pay the bill!” EDEN PHILLPOTTS. |
|
