The Fall of Boston

                               (with apologies to the beloved author of B.F.)

Gen. Bliss, Red

“    Pew, Blue

Up from the meadows green with corn,

Clear in the muggy August morn,

A dozen Blues inpatient stand

Corralled by the Reds strategic band.

Round about them soldiers tread

Proud of their battle flags of Red;

Fair as the conquerors of old

To the eyes of the ladies who behold.

Up the street came the Blue a-tread,

General Pew still riding ahead;

Under his slouched hat left and right

He glanced; the captured met his sight.

“Halt!” The karki stood fast;

“Fire!” Outblazed the rifle blast.

Ten thousand Reds then bit the dust,

Preferring pie with but one crust.

Quick as they fell they rose again

And covered the crimson coated men;

“Now it’s our turn to shoot at you,

So drop,” said they to General Pew.

Then up rose gallant General Bliss

With a command which sounded like this:

“Shoot if you must these men of Red,

But spare the farmers’ cows,” he said.

A blush of sadness a flush of shame

Over the face of the leaders came;

“Who touches a squash or tomato Red

Dies like a dog! March on,” he said.

All day long through fields of green

Sounded the honk of the war machine;

All day long the war balloon

Sailed away for the distant moon.

Over each soldier’s mimic grave

Let wheat and corn and onions wave;

And through the hill-gaps sunset light

Send telegrams to stop the fight.

The days of the mimic war are o’er,

And the soldier rides on his raids no more.

All honor to him and let a tear

Of joy well forth “because we’re here.”

And ever as the stars as one look down

On captured and ransacked Boston town;

And list, my children, ere you seek your beds

To the tale of the war of blues and reds.

c. Aug. 19, ‘09