Imagine if dads—history's military
Had had to fight wars way back when,
And tramp over hills and through swamps full of 'skeeters,
With troops of their kids 'stead of men?
Just think of Napoleon, hand on his
Commanding astride of his horse:
He wouldn't be shouting, "Go slaughter the scum!"
But "Billy, stop hitting!" of course.
Imagine 'round King Arthur's table as
His own brood of puerile vulgarity:
'Tween helm-butting, wrestling, and sword-and-food-fights,
Quests for Grails would be left to posterity.
George Washington—what would you say
to your troop
'Fore crossing the Delaware wadi?
Not simply, "Look sharp, soldier—get in the sloop!"
But, "Does anyone have to go potty?"
And Caesar, next time you go conquering
I've a bit of advice for your thesis:
If you wish that your children not argue at all,
Divide it in more than three pieces.
Well, that would be life at the van-
and rear- guard
With their children—both sisters and brothers;
They'd find it a battle that's frightfully hard—
And be tempted to leave it to mothers!
—Anon A. Mouse