A Book for Kids
High on the hills, where the tall trees grow,
There lives an axeman that 1 know.
From his little hut by a ferny creek,
Day after day, week after week,
He goes each morn with his shining axe,
Trudging along by the forest tracks;
And he chops and he chops     till the daylight goes
High on the hills, where the blue-gum grows.

(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!) There's a log to move and a branch to lop. Now to the felling! His sharp axe bites Into a tree on the forest heights, And scarce for a breath does the axeman stop- (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!) Bell-birds watch him; and in the fern Wallabies listen awhile, and turn Back through the bracken, and off they hop. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . -. Chop!) Patient and tireless, blow on blow The axeman swings as the minutes go; While the echoes ring from the mountain-top. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Round about him the. rabbits play, Skipping and scampering all the day, And the sweet young grass by the logs they crop. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Crimson parrots above him climb, Chattering, chattering all the time, As down from the branches the twigs they drop. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! Chop!) Steadily, surely, on he goes, Shaking the tree with his mighty blows: There's never a pause and there's never a stop. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Out from the bush beyond is heard The swaggering song of the butcher-bird Seeking a joint for his butcher's shop. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!) Deeper and deeper the cut creeps in, While the parrots shriek with a deafening din, And the chips fly out with a flip and a flop. (Chip! Chop! Chip! Chop!) Yellow robins come flocking round, Watching the chips as they fall to ground, Darting to catch the g ubs that drop. (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
The blows come quicker. The axe~biade hums, Stand well back, there, before she comes! Hark! How the splinters crack and pop- (Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!) Listen! Listen! She's creaking now! Look, high up, at that trembling bough! Another second, and down she'll smash, Shaking the earth with a mighty crash; Look at her! Look at her! (Chip! Chop! Chip! . . . . . . . .Chip!) Wee - E - E - E - E - E -- FLOP!

Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002