THE POT BOUNDER.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 267, 10 November 1934, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE POT BOUNDER.

" Wo in New Zealand arc pot-bound — there is no doubt about it. One cannot get rich experience by meeting 'half a dozen people. To understand the. mind of the rest of the world it is important that contact bo made with that other mind about which we in this country know so very little." —Professor J. Shelley. If Mani with his magic net, Together with his toa, Would fish (d<; »»>vo) carefully Kor Ao-te-ii-roa ; Would tow the long while cloud awny From Uiese Tail- isles roinnnfic. And iuiriior if with bouMers big Out. in the fur Atlantic; Oil! what :i dlffereneo tbere'd be Awny from all the flounders, And wllat a difference to us, I'oor, Jitlle, loKt pot bounders. If dear old Cook had not. looked in Upon I liia Km in of ucorla. Some other monarch would have ruled, Ami not good Queen Victoria; And if our mas and pas had not Become New Zealand founders, There wouldn't be a Briton here. And thus no young pot bounders. If boodle bloomed on every bush, Each leu-tree grew a sovereign, Maybe we'd hike across the foam Instead of merely lioverln' Among the tallHOme kauri trees A-lislening to the cable; We'd go α-hlking somewhere else If Croesus, made us uhl*, Far from the quiet of Hio glen. Its silence much profoundcr Than that <>f—well, say Leicester Square, Devoid of the pot bounder. If history had not yet been wr.t, And mill ton not been frozen, Anil Haoriland for Britons had Escaped from being chosen, Wie'd ull of course be born elsewhere. And thus—ah, most superior. Instead of: which—by jovel we're here, Because we're here—inferior; My word! Ihis- colonising stunt Is like a game of rounUers, And some are free and flowering plants. But others, mere pot bounders. If we are earthy, dull, obtuse. Sans polishing by travel, To liven up our dormant roots. And set us scratching gravel. What übout passports , free J'or all. Stale aid and steamship ticket, I feel convinced flint Mr. Forties Would foot the bill — that's cricket; Wouhl fret; the matted roots which cause The ship of State to founder. Thus rescuing the little plant. Poor, little, still pot bounder. And yet, I sometimes sit aud smoke. Immersed in thought and vapour. Just glancing at the far oft" world. As mirrored in the paper, And feel that lacking specie, I Must take Ihe world for granted. And gisw within the. little, pot, Where Fate has had me planted. And — enlre nous—l'm rather proud That Maul—fhat great founder. Fished ujp the Long White Cloud for me, And made me a pot bounder. —C.J.