In spite of protests by the press and public bodies the Police Department's secrecy concerning reports continues inexplicably.

Books in running brooks there are,
   As the Bard knew well;
Yet, as to what crooks there are,
   Cops never tell.
Lacking all loquacity,
A limited capacity
For stories whose veracity
   Might raise a public yell,
They plead, with rare sagacity,
   And cops never tell.

Sermons still in stones there are,
   Found by dale and dell,
Tales in bleaching bones there are;
   But cops never tell.
Tho' with rare rascality
And much illegality,
Rascals, in reality,
   The daily crime lists swell,
Scorning in vain verbality,
   Cops never tell.

Tongues, we know, in trees, there are,
   Voices in the shell
That speak of surging seas there are,
   But cops never tell!
Unless, thro' insobriety,
Or, seeking notoriety,
The troubler of society
   Is safe within the cell,
With, stubborn contrariety
   Cops never tell.

From out all Nature come to us
   Confessions none may quell,
Nor earth nor sky are dumb to us,
   But cops never tell.
Despite the multiplicity
Of crimes and man's duplicity,
Which over our felicity
   Has cast an evil spell,
Shrinking from crude publicity,
   Cops never tell.

"Den"
Herald, 23 November 1935, p8