[Editor: A poem by “Dryblower” Murphy, published in The West Australian Sunday Times, 21 April 1901.]
The man from Boulder City came
To stay in Perth.
Within the Swan his skin he rid
Of that which his complexion hid —
Brown mother earth.
Then feeling fresher, through the streets
He pressed along
Until a Hay-street sign he spied,
And feeling peckish went inside
The hour was late, the room was dark,
“I’m on an egg; I’m on it twice,”
He murmured, “and what’er the price
Some bacon, too.”
They brought the eggs, he broke the shells,
Then rude he grew.
A lurid altercation rose
When over John the waiter’s clothes
The food he threw.
A copper rushed upon the scene
And smelt the eggs.
“They’re fresh!” he cried. “His reason’s gone!
Why does he want, at harmless John,
To pelt the eggs?”
The man from Boulder held his nose
And rushed away;
Then suddenly, when off he’d fled
John saw the truth, as egg and bread
He brushed away.
Ill-flavored food through constant use
Will please the flesh.
The stranger’s taste was undermined.
ON BOULDER EGGS FOR YEARS HE’D DINED,
AND THESE WERE FRESH!!
The West Australian Sunday Times (Perth, WA), 21 April 1901, p. 1
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