I watch the old men

Who run the world’s show;

With tails in the air,

They try this and that.

With bully-boy flab,

A conscience unpricked,

Their memory slack,

Their puny goods limp,

They slaughter at will,

Kick out at the cat;

They burp and they lark,

In packs at the swill.

I hanker for youth

To take its turn still.