A Note to Posterity

Babe of some unseen morrow
   A century away,
Look not in scornful sorrow
   Upon our acts today --
We poor mutts who now borrow
   What you poor mutts must pay.
 
Nor think that our position
   Thus forces us to owe;
Our sources of nutrition
   Are certainly not low;
It is the politician
   Who does this thing you know.
 
Indeed, our own Depression
   Its lesson should have taught
When, thro' past indiscretion,
   Our hopes were brought to nought,
But now, in Debt's progression,
   You're caught, as we were caught.
 
And yet, take heart Descendant,
   Son of our son's son's son.
As our sires were dependent
   On us, do as we've done:
Live well, if not resplendent,
   And pass along the fun.
 
So, to fresh generations
   Just pass along the debt,
Their far-off lamentations
   Won't reach you.  So, why fret?
Posterity's long patience
   Has not been measured yet.
 
Time flies, man dies, and moulders.
   Who knows what numbers wait?
Some superman, who shoulders
   The debt, may yet play straight,
And ultimate bond-holders
   Collect the aggregate.