SIC TRANSIT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume X, Issue 6, 11 February 1893, Page 142

SIC TRANSIT.

This is the state of man ; to day he puts forth The tender roots of habit; to-morrow blossoms Of the same, and keeps on blossoming And taking deeper root, until at last It takes more work to move him from his corner Than it does to stir a house dog from the rug Before the fire. Then—when he thinks, good easy man, His ways are settled for all time— Some busy woman conies along and says : * Please move about six inches till I run The sweeper o’er the place your chair has been.’ And 10, he splits the air with lamentations, Loud, and deep, and shrill ; He cries, there is no rest this side of Paradise For a poor man, weary and worn with moving round Ont of the way of sweepers, And wishes he were dead. O, how wretched is that poor man who cannot sit In last year’s dust and grime until this year Shall be two years ago last year ! And when he dies, his hope and comfort is, He will be laid in dirt, never to move again. Rober t J. Burdette.