Someone has suggested that, if window boxes are encouraged in Collins-street, doctors may become poets.

Hail, smiling morn!  The passing tram-car's bell
   Sounds to mine ear like love songs sweetly sung.
The sunlit pavement glows, and all is well --
   Put out your tongue.

Without my window salpiglossis blooms,
   Nasturium nods to laughing columbine.
Sweet odors waft thro' my consulting rooms --
   Say ninety-nine.

Tra-la, tra-la!  Let's troll a merry lay!
   See how my maiden-hair bends to the breeze!
Who could be sad on such a golden day?
   One guinea, please.

"Den"
Sun, 6 April 1927, p7