An Ode to Butter

The price of butter in Melbourne has been advanced 1d. a lb.

The politician rant and rave,
The sportsmen rave and wrangle,
Wise men of state who rule our fate,
Get matters in a tangle.
The weather changes every day,
The ills of flesh are many—
And all of hope we sit and mope
For butter’s up a penny.

The fate of Ireland's with the gods,
The Federal elections
May come, or not, or go to pot,
Some Laborite’s deflections
Do not disturb us in the least,
Nor does our Billy when he
In wrath descends on former friends
For butter’s up a penny.

We read of crimes, and parlous times
And footpads growing bolder;
But how can such disturb one much
If one’s a poor householder.
The shining curls of Beauty Girls—
Jeanette or Joan or Jenny—
Do not attract: and that’s a fact,
When butter’s up a penny.

The Country Party’s getting mad
About redistribution;
They’re moving all our Big Town Halls
Or some such institution.
Somewhere we’ve read, or heard it said,
There’s ructions in Kilkenny;
It leaves us cold when we are told
That butter’s up a penny.

The world revolves; and high results
Are voiced by politicians,
The poets dream, the parties scheme
And shuffle for positions.
Some men by stealth amass great wealth
While others haven’t any,
And tear their hair. What do we care?
BUTTER IS UP A PENNY.