Rudyard the dud yard,
Rudyard the false measure,
Told 'em that glory
Ain't always a pleasure,
But said it wuz glorious nevertheless
To lick the boots of the bloke
That makes the worst mess.
Keep up the grand system
Don't tell what you know,
Your grandad got the rough edge.
Ain't it always been so ?
Your own ma' warn't no better
Than the Duchess of Kaugh.
My cousin's named Baldwin
An' 'e looks like a tofft
You 'ark to the sargent,
And don't read no books;
Go to God like a sojer;
What counts is the looks.
Alf-s Fourth Bit
Ezra Pound
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Poem topics: god, pleasure, edge, worst, measure, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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