So here's another of your wicked wiles—
A rocket which can whizz four hundred miles?
Do not suppose, if it could travel ten,
That it would save your bacon, silly men.
But if the ancient ways of war must cease,
We'll have to take new thought about the peace.
The Atlantic Charter did not, I believe,
Provide for folk with rockets up their sleeve.
Be careful, Fritz. The farther you can throw
The farther into Europe we must go;
And then, that it may not occur again,
The farther—and the fiercer—we'll remain.
Maybe, to pen the Prussian fireworks in,
We now shall need a bridgehead in Berlin.
August 6, 1944