The Kid
Now, this ain't a loocid story, but it 'as a 'igh-class moral.
I can mop up all the praises hurled at me by them it soots.
An' with them it don't appeal to I don't seek to pick a quarrel;
But I pause to say in passin', that I hold 'em brainless coots.
Well it mighter been a nightmare or it mighter been a vision.
Why or 'ow or where it 'appened, or 'ow long or shot ago
These are items I am shy of; but I've come to this decision:
It all 'appened some'ow somewhere, an' I'm tellin' all I know.
With this lengthy introduction - which I'm trustin', inter-arlier,
Will be paid for, cash, at space rates, to assist a bard in need
(For the lot of jingle-writers in our own sun-kissed Australier
Ain't so sunny as it might be, on the 'ole) - I'll now proceed.
There was me - who's most important, bein' here to tell the story
There was Kodak's gloomy lodger, an' a 'Enry Lawson bloke,
Also E.J. Brady's pirate, full of husky oaths and gory,
An' a plump and pleasin' female from an Ambrose Dyson joke.
Likewise with us at the geth'rin' Was Grant 'Ervey's Strong Australian.
An' a curly Souter peach; it was a treat the way she dressed;
An' a Louis Esson dryad, sparsely gowned an' somewot alien
(For which rhyme I point to many precedents amongst the best).
Also there were many others, far too noomerous to mention;
Bron men, somwot out of drorin', but exceedin' terse an' keen;
Yeller pups, George Reids an' dry dogs - but it is not my intention
To innoomerate the items in a Chris'mas BULLYTEEN.
Where we were I 'ave no notion, tho' it mighter been Parnassus.
Any'ow - but I'm forgettin' one small guest that came unbid;
Standin' in a corner sulkin', seldom speakin', 'cept to sass us,
Rubbin' 'is thin calves together, stood a Norman Lindsay kid.
But the main point of this story is that all of us was stony;
An' we needed money badly for to give ourselves a treat.
An' we wanted to present the editor with somethin' toney
In the shape of clubs or rest cures, just to try an' get 'im sweet.
'Mates, alas, there's nothin'left us,' ses the gloomy Lawson native.
'We can only look for other castaways from other wrecks.'
When the Wild Cat, on 'is windlass, scratched 'is left ear contemplative
An' remarked, 'I think I've gotter scheme to land the fatted cheques.
'We are valuable assets,' 'e went on, in tones finanshul.
'We are also reproductive, an' I think I see a chance
To relieve the present tension, an' secure a sum substanshul,
Which all comes of my acquaintance with low schemes an' 'igh finance.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
