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Oh "Aldous" calls his men to fall |
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Will they right-sit their soul? |
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And will they, would they, run? |
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Hit their elders, they're gone, |
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Or will they: "I don't understand?" |
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And would you have had a rise? |
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"What the hell?" What they noted |
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Oh I know what they got, and the borders: |
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What they shot, shot aloud, shine alike, |
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When Rodin willed they rise, and they're cold and know |
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That "They howl" when they are rising, |
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And oh love makes your toes free "to furl" |
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Oh all the educators travelled on about their dawn, |
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And their duty and their wands |
