By Leonard
Rating: G
Note: Like I said, I didn't write this. Poor Leonard doesn't have a computer or e-mail.

A terror hangs over our heads
I scarcely dare to think
Of the awful doom that each one dreads
From which the bravest shrink
It's not the crashing shrapnel shell

It's not the sniper shot
It's not the machine guns burst of Hell
These matter not a jot
It's a far worse thing than that, son
With which we have to grapple
It's if we see another one
More tins of plum and apples

THE END