[It is reported that the citizens of Berlin are agitated about
the serious difficulty that has arisen with regard to the removal
of dust. A Berlin journal has championed their cause.]
I love to catch such bits of local colour
As hide awhile the lurid hues of war,
And paint the fatuous Hun an even duller
Fool than we took him for.
I love to seize on every source of humour
That gives black care a very welcome shove--
I like, I mean to say, the sort of rumour
Recited up above.
Berlin, you see, has grown of late so gritty
That half the pop. is troubled to the quick,
Finding the dust of that unwholesome city
Is just a bit too thick.
Well, I have read about some other grumblers
With curious similarity of soul
Who left untouched the gnats that thronged their tumblers,
But drank their camels whole.
So here your Hun, denouncing this condition
Of his uncleanly city's upper crust,
Flatly declines to have his earthly vision
Clogged with material dust,
Yet, all unconscious of the draught he's taking,
Swallows the stuff in pharisaic wise
With which his rulers have for years been making
A dustbin of his eyes.
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