  | Warwick Dalzell
Warwick was born in Co Down and taught for a time in Northern Ireland. He sought his fortune in Africa, but returned home penniless. After another stint at the chalkface, he went to London. There he met Peter O'Loughlin who advised him to head for Australia, where he lived on and off for forty years. He is now a frequent pilgrim to the old country. |
Streams and Spricks and Small Boys by Warwick Dalzell |
There was a stream I knew,
That wandered beside a hedge
Where I used to go and catch spricks,
And bring them home
Like a real fisherman.
But I couldn’t eat them
So they lingered in a jam jar
And died.
I returned to that stream
And caught more spricks
And brought them home
In the same jam jar.
Now the stream has gone
And in its place
There’s a highway
And big houses
Which make no allowance
For spricks and small boys.
That’s progress, I’m told
For we need houses
And highways
For people and cars.
But we don’t need spricks
Or silly young boys,
Who should have known better.
So the spricks have gone
And the young boys
Throw stones
And are rude,
Because they’ve never heard
About the stream
And the spricks
And the fisherman.
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