They're Here

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The Larikins sweep northwards from the bleak Antipodes

Like the roaring forties howl across the raging southern seas

Engulfing ships and men invoking God upon their knees,

 In prayer.

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Their deeds have dimmed the Southern Cross from Coffs to Hobart Bay.

Tasman tigers bless extinction when the Hexts come out to play,

Koalas wake and Dingos howl as Joeys bound away.

In fear.

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News from Sydney halt the Beijing talks and end Chris Patten's stay

The Hang Seng dives in panic as they land in Kowloon Bay,

And all the other airlines cut relations with Cathay.

They're here.

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"Bon jour", they've taken Paris, montent L'Eiffel with Oz disdain,

They piddle in the piscine and they piddle in the Seine,

And circle topless women sunning the the Bois' demesne,

Quelle affaire.

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Gone to ground in drizzly Dorset, holed up in a Purbeck farm

They play at cards and Bagatelle and swindle without qualm,,

Bending adults to their wishes and conning them with charm

And flair.

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They skip to sunny Somerset and settle down with ease,

New  home, new hosts new circumstance, they still do as they please,

These universal Larikins find travelling such a breeze,

Anywhere.

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O Trinity of Love and Power, our trio soon depart,

Though four X (xxxx) pestosauri, they have won the Gramp's heart.

On James, Wip, Jon, now Sydney bound, your Love and Grace impart

And Care.

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(The Hext brothers return to Europe on leave, with their parents, in June /July 1993)

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