Wool Week began yesterday, when several sheep were shorn publicly on The Block, in Collins Street.
They filched my coat in Collins Street To make a holiday, The while I raised a piteous bleat For green fields far away. They filched my fleece from head to tail Before a motley throng; And now I ask of what avail To gushing girl and gaping male Garbed so absurdly wrong? Cotton shirt and silken gown Fabrics weird and wonderful. All the fashions of the town Hat of fur: a whole street full Of furbelows and fripperies, Stockings spun from forest trees -- But what of all our previous wool? They filched my coat in Collins Street To teach them of our toil Since John Macarthur set our feet Upon Australian soil; To teach them of the millions won That millions might be fed, Of what we mean and what we've done Beneath the kind Australian sun To gain them daily bread. Silken gown and cotton short -- Leather-coated gentleman, Lady fair in fur begirt, What do you to aid our plan? We yield our coats that you be clad To your own profit. What strange fad Places us beneath a ban?
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2006-07|