Furnley Maurice

“ Ta—rah—ra—rah, the trumpets go telling the boys to come,
And always and all the time, bang goes the drum.
Look at their lovely leather legs! The big brass things they blow!
I don't care where I walk or who I meet,
I'm following the band away to where the musics grow,
I'm hitting my boots heavy on the street.
For I must find the music man that lets them play so loud,
And find the funny place where soldiers go
To fill their trumpets with the noise they blow among the crowd—
It's not a tea and pastry shop I know. ”

“ He galloped for the music that seemed not so far away,
And neely found the fairies where the trumpet used to play!
Our mother went and catched him and he neely wasn't found,
He neely fell into the creek through looking round and round.
A naughty sea-shell cutted him, he had a bleedy toe,
He lorst one Sunday sandal and he didn't seem to know;
He only stood and wondered why all fairies live in moons,
And go home in the twilight with their trumpets blowing tunes.
WHISPER!
When he talks to Bay and me,
Micky doesn't seem to know
It's too far for boys to see,
If he's in the trellis tree ”

“ Blinking at the fairies who are wanting him to go;
Little boy thinking, thinking, thinking,
Little boy thinking if he will or no.
Rubs his little eye for to push the sleep away;
Better on the lawn is it? Watching spriggies play?
Minahs and starlings,
But no such darlings
As the little boy that's never been to sleep this day.
Ssh! ssh! ssh! for the big eyes gleaming,
Dee, dee, softly his mother sings;
Little boy dreaming, dreaming, dreaming,
Fluttering to bye-low on bull-fly wings.
WHISPER!
Anyone seen Micky here?
Him that lives above the ceiling. ”