Sock It To 'Em

"A Canadian lieutenant writes his mother from the front that what he most needs for the winter is good warm socks." - Press Despatch.         Yes, Wilhelm, sure you'll get it,             The storm is o'er your head;         It is bursting in the trenches             And you're just as good as dead.         You put your foot on Belgium             And defied your fate and doom,         And now the whole world hates you             And the cry is "Sock it to 'em!"         True, your Taubchens still are sailing,             But your battleships are not;         They are coop'd up in a corner             Save the submerg'd ones that fought.         You are saving time and fuel,             But you're sad and filled with gloom,         For the very winds are whispering             "Blow hard and sock it to 'em."         You have sought more spacious realm             In the free and genial sun:         Has your sceptre widened any             With the salvo of each gun?         Your "World-Power" seems to narrow,             And your hope lies in a tomb,         While dark Fate weaves your chaplet             And whispers "Sock it to 'em!"         For Theodore Botrel.