An Emporer went to the front,
With colors proudly flying;
His soldiers bore the battle’s brunt,
The wounded and the dying.
Upon a hill he viewed the scene,
Beyond the range of firing,
Or telephoned his troopers keen
With energy untiring.
At noon he scarcely stopped to take
A cup o’ tea to warm him,
Brewed by a chef too prone to quake
Lest anything should harm him.
The shades of night came down ere long
And closed the bloody battle,
And quiet reigned the hosts among,
Save for the foe’s death rattle.
Informed the victory was won,
The monarch’s heart grew lighter
And much he plumed himself upon
His prowess as a fighter.