Poem by Owen Seaman

The Prophetic Present

  By nature they abhor the light,
    But here in this their latest tract
  Your parrot Press by oversight
    Has deviated into fact;
  If not (at present) strictly true,
    It shows a sound anticipation
  Born of the fear that's father to
          The allegation.

  For, though the boasted "line" of which
    No trace occurs on German maps
  Retains the semblance of a ditch,
    It has some nasty yawning gaps;
  It bulges here, it wobbles there,
    It crumples up with broken hinges,
  Keeping no sort of pattern where
          Our Push impinges.

  When the triumphant word went round
    How that your god, disguised as man,
  At victory's height was giving ground
    According to a well-laid plan,
  Here he arranged to draw the line
    (As _Siegfried's_ you were told to hymn it)
  And plant _Nil ultra_ for a sign--
          Meaning the limit.

  And now "There's no such thing," they say;
    Well, that implies prophetic sense;
  And, if a British prophet may
    Adopt their graphic present tense,
  I would remark--and so forestall
    A truth they'll never dare to trench on:--
  _There is no HINDENBURG at all,
          Or none worth mention_.

1. To Belgium in Exile
2. The Wayside Calvary
3. The Avengers
4. Ars Postera
5. Yet

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