The triangle before me tells me to yield
but I find that sign to be too womanly
and the handlebar moustache above my lip
proves that I am far too masculine a sort
to take such a command lying down.

No, I shall not yield,
just on a sign’s word,
however nice its coloring may be.
I shall go forward, brave as a turk,
sallying forth into the stark new day,
taking whatever ground needs be taken,
faithfully, carefully!
But yielding only to the greater force
with the greater arms
when they tell me to.