Where are my friends of yesterday?
Where are the brave, the brash, the gay?
They are fat, or thin or bald or grey -
I see their ghosts at the A.I.A.
“Poffenberger retired last May -”
“I visited Finchley yesterday.”
“I hear old Gubbins has passed away -”
Ghostly talk at the A.I.A.
Where is my friend who yesterday
Made his equisse for a Swiss Chalet?
And chanted a dolorous roundelay
When he got H.C.’D on Judgment Day?
Where is my friend who in Class A
Rendered his plan in gilt pochet?
His portly ghost has a gentle sway
And his fifth martini is on the way.

Where are the mad, the daft, the fey
Who painted the scene and did the play?
Those dear buffoons of a happy day -
I hardly noticed they’d gone away.
This old towser has had his day -

An architectural old dog tray -
Let the young hounds yelp; let the young hounds bay.
Let the young gentlemen have their say.