"
The dingo homeward hies,
The sooty crows uprise
And caw their fierce surprise
A tone Satanic in;
And bearded bushmen tread
Around the sleeper's head --
"See here -- the bloke is dead!
Now where's his pannikin?"
They read his words and weep,
And lay him down to sleep
Where wattle-branches sweep,
A style mechanic in;
And, reader, that's the way
The poets of to-day
Spin out their little lay
About a pannikin.
Not on It
The new chum's polo pony was the smartest pony yet --
The owner backed it for the Cup for all that he could get.
The books were laying fives to one, in tenners; and you bet
He was on it.
The bell was rung, the nags came out their quality to try,
The band played "What Ho! Robbo!" as our hero cantered by,
The people in the Leger Stand cried out, "Hi, Mister, Hi!
Are you on it?"
They watched him as the flag went down; his fate is quickly told --
The pony gave a sudden spring, and off the rider rolled.
The pony finished first all right, but then our hero bold
Was not on it.
The Protest
I say 'e ISN'T Remorse!
'Ow do I know?
Saw 'im on Riccarton course
Two year ago!
Think I'd forget any 'orse?
COURSE 'e's The Crow!
Bumper Maginnis and I,
After a "go",
Walkin' our 'orses to dry,
I says, "Hello!
What's that old black goin' by?"
Bumper says "Oh!
That's an old cuddy of Flanagan's --
Runs as The Crow!"
Now they make out 'e's Remorse.
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