Poem by Andrew Barton Paterson

A Triolet

Of all the sickly forms of verse, 
Commend me to the triolet. 
It makes bad writers somewhat worse: 
Of all the sickly forms of verse, 
That fall beneath a reader’s curse, 
It is the feeblest jingle yet. 
Of all the sickly forms of verse, 
Commend me to the triolet.

1. A Bush Lawyer
2. The Man Who Was Away
3. The Quest Eternal
4. The Fitzroy Blacksmith
5. Our Mat

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