"MORE-PORK."

Evening Star, Issue 10901, 8 April 1899, Page 2 (Supplement)

"MORE-PORK."

In the hush of the trees when the curtain of I night ~... Hath cast its dark shadow on valley and hill, I Or perhaps where the fire of the bushman i 3 I bright, I And flushes by fits over streamlet and nil • ; Then, with caiences mournful, aloft, nwy be i heard , ... , ,_-_j The voice of that bright-eyed, ridiculous bird—j "More-pork—More-pork!" ■' 'Tis a sound that might harrow the foul of a I As it rises and falls with insistence so plain; And the sow with a litter might shudder, in ! view I Of the urgent demand, as, again and again. With its cadences mournful, aloft, may be heard , . . . The voice of that bright-eyed, importunate 1 bird—j " More-pork—More-pork!" By night, too, by night, when the butchers I are gone, And their murderous knives for the tune are j put by, . Then this vagabond owl, with its carryingsMust put forth a claim on the neighboring And with cadences mournful, persistent, be i heard 'The voice of that bright-eyed, carnivorous I bird—j " More-pork—More-pork!" , "Oh! go to Chicago"—the sow might appeal I To this gluttonous, ravenous bird of the I night—"Away to the city, where myriads squeal, i And gorge yourself there till you drop in your flight." But in cadences mournful, aloft, would be heard The voice of that bright-eyed, preposterous bird- " More-pork—More-pork!" And thus he goes on; any night in the year You may hear him repeating his urgent request That the sow shall be robbed, and, though bacon be dear, This owl must be fed on her fairest and best! Still in cadences mournful, distressful, be heard The voice of that bright-eyed, unsatisfied bird—j " More-pork—More-pork!" But soft!— Here's a gunner who waits for his ! prey I By the side of the fires which, cracking and bright, May at length to his fate this night-prowler . betray I As he swoops and is dazed by the flickering light. A shot! —and no longer insistent is heard The voice Of that bright-eyed, unfortante ; bird- " More-pork—More-pork!" He falls to the ground—he's as dead as a j stone—- ! He's as light as a cork—was all feathers and ' noise— What he does with bis " pork " is a matter unknown, 1 For his "corpus" is small whatsoe'er he ! enjoys. But his cadences mournful no longer are heard, The voice of that bright-eyed, ridiculous bird—- " More-pork—More-pork!" Yet, truth but to tell, to the last of bis days He stuck to his urgent demand to be fed With the daintiest " porker " that piggy .could I" raise," And the sound that he uttered before he fell dead Was a passionate cry that was almost absurd, ,' For the voice of that bright-eyed, unsatisfied j bird—j "More-p..." (The rest was unheard!) Kalekos.