At the risk of seeming silly,
I would ask you, 'Where is Billy?'
Here's a crisis, here's a fight,
And he's missing. Strike a light!
Blithering blazes! Here's a mill -
Rough house stuff; and where's our Bill?
Where's the speech with phrases frilly,
Trouncing foemen willy nilly,
Waving arms, gesticulations,
Posturing and wild gyrations?
Briefly, where's the vaudeville
That, in olden days was Bill?
Where's the harsh voice, rising shrilly
To uphold the views of Billy?
Far too grave grow politics,
Lacking all his circus tricks.
Missing! Missing! And, alack!
Some folk say he won't come back.
Not so I. I see him dreaming
In some chamber, planning, scheming,
Till, when we are on the verge
Of disaster, he'll emerge
With the only sane, safe plan,
For deliverance of man.
Then with one fine, regal, gesture,
He will don again the vesture
Of authority and right,
Crying, 'Come, I see the light!' . . . .
Gosh! But wouldn't we look silly
If once more we followed Billy?