Hiram Maxim was born in Maine,
Embarking down a path which that
Gave us a gun that bore his name,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
The British turned it down at first
Declaring that it would fall flat.
The Germans saw its murderous thirst,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
Placed at the forefront of their lines
As a defence to all attack,
Yet on we marched despite the signs,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
And those that charged fell to their grave,
So long before they could combat;
The bullets came on like a wave,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
And on the blood-stained fields at Somme,
With venom were the lead globs spat;
The dead fell as a ghastly throng,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
The mode of war had changed for good,
With no more games of mouse and cat;
The coolant was replaced with blood,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
As time went past their kill rate grew,
The fields looked like a crimson mat;
Widows and orphans did accrue,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
Yet knighted for his gears of war,
Maxim grew rich and then got fat;
Whilst countless boys would wake no more,
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat.
This is a Kyrielle, written about Hiram Maxime, who in ~ 1884 invented the world’s first fully automated machine gun. A weapon which was responsible for the deaths of millions of people in World War One alone.
An audio version of this poem can be heard here.