To write a tune that makes all soldiers sleep
Was the sort of daft well-meaning notion
That Mrs Jones said would leave him ruined.
He walked through misty pines with his kazoo
Making mild noises, high unwarlike cones
Bombing down for a soft bounce too mute
To inspire his sweet lullaby for grunts.
Carlotta, meanwhile, would take it all back
If he could make history in this way.
Despairing peeps brought out stag and bear cubs,
Wide awake, bored in the wild, uninvolved,
But startled when the redcoats came knees high,
Long gone when he was on the promontory
Blowing his best, buttons aglow below
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