All year thro' old Yarra flows
   Ever seaward going,
With her air of prim repose,
What she thinks of, goodness knows!
   But she keeps on flowing
Till, one day in each drab year,
Lo! a miracle is here.


Then old Yarra so precise,
   Trim and very proper;
Scorning all the sane advice
Of the scrupulously nice,
   Comes a social cropper;
Flinging sober thought away
Mother Yarra has her day.


As the wattle in the Spring
   Breaks to efflorescence,
With a sudden burgeoning,
So old Yarra has her fling,
   Aping adolescence;
Gets quite glad and gay and bright
For a day and half a night.


Colors sparkle in the sun
   Shouts of careless laughter
Tell of unrestricted fun
Till the carnival is done.
   If remorse comes after
I am not prepared to say -
Mother Yarra had her day!

"Den"
Herald, 28 November 1931, p6