The Kia ora coo-ee : the magazine for the ANZACS in the Middle East, 1918
Gentle sister, in your white and grey.
Will you listen till to you
I've told How your wondrous way makes my memory stray
To another such as you, tho' old
And silvered, little girl, not gold!
Little lady, with your ward-light brow,
If I told you how my dreams you mould,
As you come and go in the crimsoned glow,
How tender themes, forgotten, unfold,
Would you smile, little girl, or scold?
Golden sister, when your head bends o'er,
And my fever-fired pulse you hold,
With those throbs, I'm sure, nigh a love-lent score
Neath your tiny tally-thumb are tolled,
Little girl, with your hair all gold.