Comrades

 From the Telegraph Office

WE ARE COMRADES, JOHN 

by Jerry Newton

Yes! comrades, John, for thirty years,

Not in the usual way,

Comrades, though we have never met,

This may seem strange to say.

 

You've worked one end - I the other,

Of a circuit all these years,

We've shared our joys - the fates bestowed

Our sympathies and tears.

 

We both are growing shaky, John,

Our MORSE is not so clear,

And not so musical as when

Our cups were full of cheer.

 

Our dashes are of weary length,

Our spaces uncontrolled,

Our punctuation incomplete,

Our touch is not so bold.

 

You always make six dots for H,

Eight for the letter S,

But the alphabet is growing old,

We too are, John - I guess.

 

I will not chide you further,

John, Alas! `tis too my fix,

When H and P I try to make,

I always make a six.