Jarrahland Jingles.


To E. G. M.

Life—beer—and ants. The bard descants
Over the golden West;
His speech is free, his ecstasy
Untrammelled by a vest;
The life appears a glorious brew,
The beer, it seems, is glorious too;
But, W.A., A.W.,
Those ants.

Ants—life—and beer. We suffer here
An East grown pale, effete;
For puny men in city pen
No vivid pulses beat.
Life West is full of derring-do,
The western ants are full of you;
But, W.A., A.W.,
That beer?

Beer—ants—and life. One hour of strife
Is worth the years we drone;
Find, if you wish, gold in the dish
Of verses, here dry-blown.
Out West the beer is called “shypoo,”
The ants are called by pet names blue,
But, W.A., A.W.,
That life!

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