An Emu Hunt

West of Dubbo the west begins

The land of leisure and hope and trust,

Where the black man stalks with his dogs and gins

And Nature visits the settlers' sins

With the Bogan shower, that is mostly dust.

When the roley-poley's roots dry out

With the fierce hot winds and the want of rain,

They come uprooted and bound about

And dance in a wild fantastic rout

Like flying haystacks across the plain.

And the horses shudder and snort and shift

As the bounding mass of weeds goes past,

But the emus never their heads uplift

As they look for roots in the sandy drift,

For the emus know it from first to last.

Now, the boss's dog that had come from town

Was strange to the wild and woolly west,

And he thought he would earn him some great renown

When he saw, on the wastes of the open down,

An emu standing beside her nest.

And he said to himself as he stalked his prey

To start on his first great emu hunt,

"I must show some speed when she runs away,

For emus kick very hard, they say;

But I can't be kicked if I keep in front."

The emu chickens made haste to flee

As he barked and he snarled and he darted around,

But the emu looked at him scornfully

And put an end to his warlike glee

With a kick that lifted him off the ground.

And when, with an injured rib or two,

He made for home with a chastened mind,

An old dog told him, "I thought you knew

An emu kicks like a kangaroo,

And you can't get hurt — if you keep behind."