The Kia ora coo-ee : the magazine for the ANZACS in the Middle East, 1918
Poets have sung the loftiest themes,
In flowing rhythm and metre,
Of love and wine and man's prowess,
But none hath sung of Peter.
O Muse, inspire poetic fire
Into my falt'ring lay;
Else must its kindled passion fail,
(And I shall lose my pay.)
Peter!—the name 's sublimely sweet
To those who love his voice,
To those who love his dappled form,
Their dancing hearts rejoice.
Some say his mellow voice is harsh.
His ancestry obscure;
So, with an oath, exceeding wroth,
They heave a brick at poor
Old Peter, but he 's fleet of foot
As any hound-chased steer;
The hurtling stone falls short its prey,
No need to shed a tear!
To those whose minds are girt about
With a consuming fog,
I would explain, though 't gives me pain,
Peter 's the Matron's dog!