The Week

Brothers, let us consider the week,
Now is the day and the hour when we
    should look and seek,
As honest patriots,
    For schemes and plans and plots
And devious devices, and such things
As the whirligigs of politics e'er
    brings,
Our noble politicians,
Shuffling, finessing, wrangling for positions,
Have not done very much.
And such
As they have done
Has not brought joy in life to anyone;
And, inter alia,
Does not count very much for our Australia.
The Government has been saved by the
    Speaker,
And scarcely for them could the view
    be bleaker.
Some other crowd—
Country or labor—might well be allowed
To occupy those benches for which so
    many people seem their life, long
    to aspire.
And really I don't think the Yarra
    would catch fire.
In fact, tomorrow, should there come
    a change,
The folk who read the papers might
    say, "Strange!"
Argue a little, wonder, question, doubt
    it,
Argue some more, and then forget
    about it.
For, brothers mine, believe me,
    I do not let mere rare,
Hot air
    Deceive me.
Neither should you.
And yet, I fear, you do.
With you, I wot, there's something sore-
    amiss
Or otherwise you'd not be reading
    this.

However, since you've read it,
Ponder its stark futility, and, brothers,
    dread it;
For 'tis a sign,
Oh, brothers mine,
Of fashions, modes and manners of
    the day,
All things seem to be drifting in this
    way—
Futile and incoherent. Right and left,
Of common-sense we seem to be
    bereft.
In olden days men sought with meek
    humility
Knowledge of life; but now all seems
    futility—
Futility and fuss and silly fret—
And in the end no forwarder we get....
I started out to speak
About the week.
But let it pass, my brother,
For this old week is just like any other.
'Tis very sad—
But I've a notion that the world's
    gone mad.
Still, if you think this discourse has
    been vain,
Collect your thoughts and read it all
    again.