Works in the Herald 1933
"THE WONGA PIGEON"
Men knew and loved my calling in old days --
Days ere a bitter wisdom taught me fear.
Trusting and unafraid, I went my ways
By many a crude hut of the pioneer;
Calling by paths where lonely axemen strode,
By new-cleared farmland yet to know the plough;
Calling by deep sled-track and bullock road . . .
But where today man builds his last abode
Few hear my calling now.
Too trusting. When they found my flesh was sweet --
Was sweet and white and succulent withal --
What mattered beauty? I was good to eat!
Then trust was my undoing; and my call
A summons to men's hunger and the chase --
A tame, ignoble chase with me the prey --
Till far into some secret forest place
I fled, with that poor remant of my race
I hiding here today.
And only by lost paths o'ergrown with fern --
By old, abandoned tracks in scrubs remote --
You may, by chance, around a sudden turn,
Win some brief, fleeting glance of my grey coat.
Then, with a swift wing-clapping, I am hence;
Or, crouching down, ingenuously seek
To merge my colors with the brush-wood dense
And trick the spoiler, with the vain defence
Of earth's harried meek.
Herald, 20 June 1933, p6