A number of newspapers are still speculating as to whether an early Federal election is likely.
Brothers, it is bound to come (Death is kindlier to some), But we who reamin in life Have some day to face the strife. Though faith dies and friendships sever, Politics go on for ever. Late or soon -- ah, late or soon, Must we hear the ranters' rune. Mystic still, uncomprehended, Yet the thing is never ended. In "The Game" we've been ensnared, So my brothers, Be Prepared . . . Mr. Hughes Will air his views And sundry factions he'll abuse. Mr Bruce Will just cut loose With sums and schemes somewhat abtruse. Mr Pierce Will grow quite fierce As Labor's mail he strives to pierce. Mr Watt Will tell you what The Liberal Party is -- or not. Mr Greene, In mood serene, Will tell you what those axe strokes mean. Mr Groom, Abjuring boom, Will prove the North has plenty room;; Mr Rodgers And such codgers, Will deplore taxation-dodgers. Doctor Page Will straight engage To prove that Country folk are sage. Br'er Considine In language fine Will show how Bolsheviks may shine. Mr Fenton, Most intent on "Wrongs," will scorch who shove the rent on. Mr Wise Will recognise The A.N.A. has yet a prize. Mr Chanter (His supplanter Fearing) will become a ranter. Mr Brennan Will show when an' Why the land should cleave to Lenin; Even austere Mr Speaker. Growing weaker -- sadly weakly, Will become a mere vote seeker. Mr Austin Chapman, lost in Dreams, will swear there's little cost in Building capitals afar Where his State's ambitions are. And, my brother, All th eother Candiadtes Defying Fates, Loud will howl without the gates In Melbourne, Brisbane, Sydney town. Near and far and up and down All the land will sound the voices, Asking voters what their choice is -- As if voters could be chosers, Seeing they are ever losers. Voices, voices, voices, VOICES! Where the picnicker rejoices; Where the bather woos the sea (Mixing with impunitee); Where the money-spinner schemes; Where the soulful poet dreams; Where the spinster spins all vainly; Where the draper drapes insanely; Where the fellers fell the trees; Where the grocer groces teas; Where the sweating stoker stokes; Where the simple punter blokes Back the wrong 'uns At the ponies; Where old cronies, Sinking long 'uns, Glance Askance At bar-toom mashers Where the noble haberdashers Dash the habber unafraid In the cause of some fair maid; Where the chemists chem, and where Mercers madly merce their ware; E'en where butchers butch in hate, Shall the Voices penetrate, In all tones and all inflections; For, my friends, such are Elections. Everywhere the Voices bawling Will be utterly appalling. And, my friends, I ask you, What? Is this Government - or not? As a true-blue democrat Atill, I have to doff my hat And exclaim, "Get to it boys! Votes is votes! But -- cut the noise!"
"C. J. Dennis"
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003-06|