NO FUSS OVER BILL.

Grey River Argus, 17 July 1922, Page 8

NO FUSS OVER BILL.

Bill Jones was brav-c, but too reckless he. And he left his trench one day, And a sniper hid in a distant tree Grimly vowed that Bill should pay For his recklessness, and Bill Jones paid With a . bullet through the head. But though thus Bill died no fuss was made, ’Twas Bill’s job to die, they said. In his home town press appeared a par Stating Bill had nobly died, And his boss’s wife in her motor-car Called on Airs Bill and cried A few genteel tears; then with relief Sped away to a croquet game. Leaving Airs Bill to her lonesome Aloaning poor old dead Bill’s name. Bill’s name is on a scroll of fame (With an asterisk in gilt To betoken Bill earned a hero’s name) On a drinking fountain built To commemorate the gallant dead. And the mayor’s name, too, is there; ’Twas a rousing speech, th-e papers said, That was given by the mayor. And Bill’s wife goes out to her halfday jobs, Cleaning offices and such. ’Tis her pillow only hears her sobs, And e’en that does not hear much, For a silent grief is Airs Bill’s, And sh-e works too hard to moon; Her’s the rending grief that often kills in the end, though seldom soon. An assassin’s bullet. Ay, yet one That the. law of man approves. For the law of man is th-e law of gun And it runs in well-oiled grooves. Y-e may strike your brother dead in war, Leave him stark and disembowelled, Ye may outrage Peace under battle law, Leaving her defiled and fouled. But when ones the statesman signs his name To a pact that ends a war, Ye .must cease your slaying. It’s not the same — It is murder, says the law. Poor Bill Jones is dead of an ounce

of lead, ' And the sniper, too, was shot. And their women toil lor their crust of bread, \nd their deeds are nigh forgot. —L.F.V.