(To the Metropolitan Police)
Thank you, policeman. What would London do
Without her guides, and guardians, in blue?
You keep the peace, your temper, and your wits,
A dear by day, a bulwark in the blitz.
Half-way between a mother and a god,
You rule the roaring traffic with a nod:
But still have time and patience to explain
The way to Number Ninety, Lambeth Lane.
What lawyer could recite, has even read,
The million regulations in your head—
The rules of roads, the black-out and the bars,
The rights of criminals, the wrongs of cars?
More than us all, you show the British way,
Strength without shouting, drill without display.
Pinned to your post, and longing to be gone
In different uniform, you carry on.
February 13, 1944