Hail To The Major

ALL hail to Major Edward Bowes,
Supreme of impresarios,
Who, magically, without theatrics,
Has set a grove around St. Patrick's,
Mightiest feat of legerdemain
Since Birnam moved to Dunsinane.
The ancient stones, austere and papal
He warms with greenery of maple,
Building isles of cloistered shade
For office boy, for man and maid.
But is the major's appetite
For nature satisfied? Not quite.
He looks at John D. junior's realm
Where elm sedately pods to elm,
Then plants his own, to parallel 'm.
And so, municipal thanks we give.
(We hope they'll live, we hope they'll live. )

 MELVILLE CANE.