My erring map does not disclose,
While roads that are not really there
The same elaborately shows;
And whether this is one of those
It needs a clever man to say;
I am not clever, I suppose,
_And I believe I've lost the way._

The soldiers sing about their beer;
The wretched road goes on and on;
There ought to be a turning here,
But if there was the thing has gone;
Like some depressed automaton
I ask at each _estaminet_;
They say, "_Tout droit_," and I say "_Bon_,"
_But I believe I've lost the way._

I dare not tell the trustful men;
They think me wonderful and wise;
But where will be the legend when
They get a shock of such a size?
And what about our brave Allies?
They wanted us to fight to-day;
We were to be a big surprise--
_And I believe I've lost the way._

* * * * *

The Dawn of Peace?