The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting): Camouflage in Word Painting — John Shaqi
The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting): Camouflage in Word PaintingWatrous, Edwin Alfred
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The Bee's Bayonet (a Little Honey and a Little Sting): Camouflage in Word Painting
Watrous, Edwin Alfred
American poetry -- 20th century
Up springs a storm! The Dove's white feathers show,
While Nuts are cracking on the deck below.
And then an iceberg looms against the sky,
But still the Dove is far too proud to fly;
But when, anon, a periscope appears
The Bird of Peace is overcome by fears,
And "beats it" to the iceberg's crystal crest,
Where she prepares to build her neutral nest.
The Submarine atop the billows now,
Stands by the Squirrel until she dips her bow
And sinks beneath the waves; then looks above
And takes a parting broadside at the Dove.
The "Angel" then, in Neptune's sky-machine
Ascendeth in a blaze of gasoline;
The Dove, marooned, broods over many things,
Nestling her poor _cold feet_ beneath her wings.
* * * * *
Regenerate, the Angel has returned
From empyrean Flight, to Earth, and learned
(I think Saint Peter gave him sound advice!)
To keep the Pacifistic Germ on ice
Until a Luther, if there still remains
One decent man where Wilhelm Cæsar reigns,
Denounces all the crimes of Germany,
And proselytes to crush Autocracy.
JINGLES
Little Bo Peep
Went fast to sleep;
Losing her sheep.
There were ninety and nine of these lambkins that fled
When poor, little Bo was asleep in her bed;
And when they returned they were _mutton_ instead.
O, what a stew!
'Twixt me and yew
What could Bo do?
O! Jack and Jill
Went up the hill,
Their pail to fill.
The water was _running_: they didn't pursue,
But filled up their growler with Double X Brew,
And Jill, in a measure, was full, and Jack too.
Both had a thirst:
Jack's was the worst:
He tumbled first.
Horner boy Jack
Had the right knack;
Cornered the snack.
His fortune grew fast from that one Christmas plum;
His profits on 'Change showed a marvelous sum,
Till he soon had Financialdom under his thumb.
O! what a wiz!
Jack knew his biz:
All now is his.
Good old King Cole,
"Merry old Soul,"
Knew how to _bowl_.
No high-balls were spared at his nocturnal spread,
And the fumes of the liquor would strike in his head
Till, knocked off his pins, he was set up in bed.
Jackass or king
Will have his fling:
Naughty, Old Thing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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