The literati
gathered ‘round
to share their views
on New York Town.
A barb,
a prank,
a quick retort-
In simple times,
when wit was sport.
Oh, how they clamored
for the floor
to lend a voice
to the poet's roar,
at a large round table
on forty-forth-
back in the day,
when wit was sport.
They traded tales
both tall and lean,
always clever,
never mean,
And spiced
the daily news reports
in days gone by,
when wit was sport.
But,
alas, the circle's
vicious fall to
A decade luncheon's
final call
as one by one
did not report,
and ended the days
when wit was sport.
Said Mr. Benchley to Mr. Broun,
"I'm going to miss this bustling town."
Then Mrs. Parker turned to me.
"Do you take whisky with your tea? "
Uproarious laughter filled the room,
"This prohibition must end soon."
But I am just imagining things
in this place where they were kings,
crowned with wisdom,
holding court,
before my time,
when wit was sport.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem