A. P. Herbert Poems

‘Frustration' is the favourite word —
The quaintest cry I ever heard:
For who can say he lives in vain
While Hitler and his hordes remain?
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The great ships sink — we praise the Navy still.
The bombers fall — we speak no airman ill.
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The Prussian beast leaps on and on,
And Freedom totters by the Don;
Though I would make a little bet
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You sighed: 'If I were younger I would go
And share the perils of the fighting man.
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However big the battles nearer home,
Let us remember-we have captured Rome.
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Why should we tell the Hun
What happens when we've won?
You do not tell the snake
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No pilots? Do they back out?
All right; we'll have no black-out.
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'V 7' is a flying gramophone
That fills the firmament with yells and screeches,
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1.—For Downing Street
We do not think that everything is well,
But we do know the obstacles are large;
So we are worried by the men who yell,
But follow quietly the men in charge.
December 24, 1944
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Honour the brave. But see some praise remains
For such a large expenditure of brains.
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