Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXIII, Issue 1926, 8 November 1884, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

HisnE'h his ragged " roundabout," Turn the pockets inside out, See, his penknife, lost to use, Busted shut with apple jaice; Here, with marbles, top and sfciing, Is his deadly " devil sling." With its rubber, limp at last As the sparrows of tho past 1 Beeswax, buckles, leather straps — Bullets and a box of caps — Not a thing at all, I guess, But betrays some waywardness — E'en these tickets, blue and red, For the Bible veises said — Such as this his mem'rj kept — " Jesus wept." Here a fishing hook and line, Tangled up with wire and twine, And dead angle worms, and some Slugs of lead and chewing guru, Blent with scents that can but come From the oil of rhodium, Here— a soiled, yet dainty note, That some little sweetheart wrote, Dotting — " Vine grows lound the stump," And — " My sweetest sugar lump ! " Wrapped m this— a padlock key Where's he's filed a touch hole— see ! And some powder in a quill Corked up with a liver pill, And a spongy littlo chunk Of " punk." Here's the little coat— but 0 1 Where is he wove censured so ? Don't you hear us calling, dear ? Back 1 Come back, and never fear You may wander whero you will, Over orchard, field and hill ; You may kill the birds, or do Anything that pleases you ! Ah, this empty coat of his ! Every tatter worth a kiss ! Every stain as pure instead As the white stars oveihead ; And the pockets— homes were they Of the little hands that pjay Now no more— but, absent, thus Beckon us, — fames Wlntcomb Riley,