A Rhyme Of Friends.

(In a Style Skeltonical)      Listen now this time      Shortly to my rhyme      That herewith starts      About certain kind hearts      In those stricken parts      That lie behind Calais,      Old crones and aged men      And young children.      About the Picardais,      Who earned my thousand thanks,      Dwellers by the banks      Of mournful Somme      (God keep me therefrom      Until War ends),      These, then, are my friends:      Madame Averlant Lune,      From the town of Bethune;      Good Professeur la Brune      From that town also.      He played the piccolo,      And left his locks to grow.      Dear Madame Hojdes,      Sempstress of Saint Fe.      With Jules and Susette      And Antoinette.      Her children, my sweethearts,      For whom I made darts      Of paper to throw      In their mimic show,      "La guerre aux tranchees."      That was a pretty play.          There was old Jacques Caron,      Of the hamlet Mailleton.      He let me look      At his household book,      "Comment vivre cent ans."      What cares I took      To obey this wise book,      I, who feared each hour      Lest Death's cruel power      On the poppied plain      Might make cares vain!          By Noeus-les-mines      Lived old Adelphine,      Withered and clean,      She nodded and smiled,      And used me like a child.      How that old trot beguiled      My leisure with her chatter,      Gave me a china platter      Painted with Cherubim      And mottoes on the rim.      But when instead of thanks      I gave her francs      How her pride was hurt!      She counted francs as dirt,      (God knows, she was not rich)      She called the Kaiser bitch,      She spat on the floor,      Cursing this Prussian war,      That she had known before      Forty years past and more.          There was also "Tomi,"      With looks sweet and free,      Who called me cher ami.      This orphan's age was nine,      His folk were in their graves,      Else they were slaves      Behind the German line      To terror and rapine,      O, little friends of mine      How kind and brave you were,      You smoothed away care      When life was hard to bear.      And you, old women and men,      Who gave me billets then,      How patient and great-hearted!      Strangers though we started,      Yet friends we ever parted.      God bless you all:    now ends      This homage to my friends.