#AustralianWriters
At the meeting of the waters Where the dark tree shadows play Wangaratta’s sons and daughters Dream the drowsy hours away; Placid see the season’s greeting
Do you know this mysterious, serio… Who sits at the game with the card… Watching and waiting While we’re calculating The tricks and the honors? It’s…
The thing’s all wrong (I sez to '… Now look, there’s this 'ere Mon… Comes before Christmas. Be a tof… An’ lest us 'ave the Monday off… ‘E 'ums an’ 'ars. An’ then…
When the Laborites and Liberals a… Are a-calling and a-bawling in the… And the strangers in the gallery a… As the members rear on end and lou… There’s a voice they miss amid the…
It was thus in the beginning: Wit… Jones contested an election years… He was young, enthusiastic, and ma… Were imperative to save the land f… For the laudable admiration of thi…
Jack Sprat would eat no fat, His wife would eat no lean, And so, betwixt them both, you see… They licked the platter clean. Old nursery rhyme
A lady plump and pleasing And generous and free, Her life is spent in sleek content Beside her inland sea; And, round its pleasant waters,
A noble lesson this should teach, Dear children unto you. If other people’s goods you reach, Of rectitude ‘twill be a breach, Or parsons will your virtues preac…
Yes, it’s tryin’, Mrs Gudgits.… To ‘ave a ’usban’ on yer 'an’s not… An’ so I can’t go out with you, m… For me Jack is in there, gaspin’… With ‘is ’Ack! ‘Ack! ’Ack!' Lor…
There was never a hint, when I wa… That the joy of the wilds might br… Never a thought that a wild thing… Might wake in the slayer pain for… We were savages all, with the hunt…
A man’s a mug. I’ve worked the '… To-day, down in the orchard where… Runnin’ the wheels red-'ot beneath… An’ wras’lin’ fervud with a sudden… A doubt wot’s plugged me fair bang…
An’-wilt-yeh-take-this-woman-fer-t… Yer-wedded-wife? -... O, strike m… Take ‘er? Doreen? ’E stan’s the… As if 'e thort per’aps I’d rather… Take ‘er? ’E seemed to think 'er…
I knew a poor remittance man, A decent chap, but funny, In days when my ideas began To be controlled by money He wore a swank, patrician air;
My Aunt Evangeline has come To visit Melbourne town, Garbed for its Glad Centenary In frill and festal gown. And Aunties says in mincing tones
I worked for fifty hours a week, And someone said to me, ‘Don’t be a serf! Throw off your… And show the world you’re free!’ So I cut down my working hours