Awake!  For now no longer does the Fear
Of Loss uphold Resolves of yester year:
   And, lo, the Layer of the Odds pours forth
His Spring Song to the Punter's eager Ear.

Come, book the Bet.  And on the clamorous Ring
The care-won caution of a Twelve-month fling.
   Who knows?  Tomorrow we may get the tip
That robs the Racing Game of all its sting.

Think; in the Paddock you may meet a Bloque
Who whispers secret Things abut a Moke;
   And, if you back It and, perchance, It win,
The World is yours, and Life becomes a Joke.

The Owner's lips are lockt; the Trainer sighs,
And then goes dumb; the Tipster deals in lies.
   But what of that?  Throw down the Gage to chance:
Grasp a pin bravely, lad, and shut your eyes.

And if the Tip you take, the Cash you bet
End in the Nothing all things end in, yet,
    As Lessons learned last Year were this Year scorned,
So this Year's lessons next year you'll forget.

And when Thyself with listless Foot shall pass
Amongst torn Tickets littering the Grass,
   Reflect, some tens of thousands share your shame;
You are but merely one more Silly Ass.

"Den"
Herald, 5 November 1934, p8