Why Always Men?

O tell me, dear rector, O tell me, dear friend,
Why men bear the blame from beginning to end?
From gas-lit suburbs to pubs after eight,
We’re scolded at breakfast, condemned at the gate.

The tea urn is steaming, the vicar is late,
The choirboys are whispering talk of their fate,
The ladies are gathered with frowns and with sighs,
Declaring “It’s men!” with reproach in their eyes.

Yes, some built the railways, and some built the wars,
And some kept the keys of the club’s heavy doors.
But surely, dear rector, the burden’s too wide
For all of us fellows to shoulder with pride?

Oh grant me St. Enid, who speaks with good cheer,
Who says “It takes two” with a smile sincere.
For blame, like the ivy on chapels of stone,
Will cling to us all if it’s cast on alone.

So lift up the kettle, and pour me some tea,
And let us admit what is plain as can be:
That men and their sisters, together they fall—
It never was solely the fault of us all.