QUEER SIDE OF THINGS.

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume XXXIV, Issue 4535, 5 March 1923, Page 2

QUEER SIDE OF THINGS.

POETRY.

(By

“Septimus.")

No one would suspect me of having a hankering after poetry. Of course, a hit found its way into “Fathers,” but that was sort of accidental like—a sentimental spasm, as it were. We all feet those, especially after overfeeding on underdone pastry. I don’t want to suggest that a man’s soul case lies under his belt, though the Chinese insist on that location. Ac the same time Little Mary is closely associated with sentiment. Poetry varies. It isn’.t always sloppy. Nor should it always be looked upon as a production of the calf-love stage. No one agrees with me—unless he wants to borrow five bob —but that is his fault, i told a man the other day that poetry could contain invaluable philosophy. He stared at •me in “bla.nkey” amazement, and then said, “What have yer been eatin’” I knew he was thinking of the two P’s —piecrust and poetry—but ignored his remark. “Please be sensible for a moment,’’ said I. “I would speak of you and others as you will be when you are not.” A twitching of his mouth, accompanied by a look of unutterable sadness, crept all over him. I don't mean the twitching—that was confined to his-mouth. Having thus reduced him tp a. state that could have been mistaken . for the “staggers”— whatever that is—l proceeded. I said to myself, here is a man who knows not the good that is in others, and T will jamb some philosophy down his intellectual gullet (metaphorically speaking). He was on his way to a funeral —and there’s no time so opportune for impressing a man. “Have you ever read “Dp it now?” I asked. “No thanks,” he said. ‘‘Of course,,” he added, “I’m not a wowser, but—well, its. a bit early, isn’t,,, it?” I agreed it was. “But,” I said, “we are ‘‘not understood,’ that is, you, I mean me, or both of us. ‘Do it now,’ T repeated.” “With pleasure,” he commenced—. "That’s it,” I said, “it, is with pleasure, but you have forgotten the if— jf with pleasure. Take this down,” I said, authoritatively—for 1 recognised that my mind was dealing with his matter—grey matter. Laboriously he wrote : DO IT NOW. If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing, If you like him or you love him, tell him now. Don’t withhold your approbation till .the parson makes oration, And he lies with snowy lilies o’er his brow. For no matter how you shout- it, he won’t really care about it, He won’t know how many teardrops you have shed: If you think some praise is due him, now’s the time to slipeit to hini For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead. More than fame and more than money is the comment kind and sunny, And the hearty, warm approval of a friend; For it gives to life a savour, and it makes you stronger, braver, And it gives you heart and spirit to the . end. If he earns your praise, bestow it; if you like him let him know it Let the words of true encouragement be said. Do not wait till life is over, and he’s underneath the clover, For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead, “You’re right,” he, said,, “and when I’m dead I’ll think of that fair rhyme; my brain a little addled may be, be-, cause I don’t see you as, you see me, but I’m learning all the time.” What a fine thing it is to realise that one has made someone else think one’s own way—just quietly.’