IN MOURNING.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17038, 11 May 1923, Page 8

IN MOURNING.

(By WALT MASON). When on a sea of troubles tossed, and full of grief and care, we sometimes soy that life’s a frost, and pause to rend our hair. But when our grievous woes are gone, we’re willing to admit, that life, considered pro and con, has made a lasting hit. When 1 am pinched for speeding up to sixty miles an hour, i say, while drinking sorrow’s cup, that life is harsh and dour. 1 think, while sit if iig in my cell, my face against the bars, the old world doesn’t treat me well, my soul bears grisly scars. But when J’ve served my little stretch, and find that I am free, 1 feel that any man’s a wretch who doesn’t whoop with me. Our freedom, noble boon and great, seems rather fiat and stale. Its worth we don’t appreciate until we’ve been in jail. For years all carelessly we cat the richest pies and cakes, and every kind of costly meat, and tilings the baker bakes. We eat the goose and turkey dressed, the luscious beet and bean, and think not how we’re greatly blessed—it’s all the day’s routine. And then to us comes Dr Pete, a, learned but sombre maJi ; he says. “You’ll have to cutout meat, and live a wlijie on bran.” And when our dieting is done, and we once more may chew the butcher’s bones and baker’s bun, how glad is our hurroo !