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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344122" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Maori Pig Market</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In distant New Zealand, whose tresses of gold <br>The billows are ceaselessly combing, <br>Away in a village all tranquil and old <br>I came on a market where porkers were sold -- <br>A market for pigs in the gloaming. <br>And Maoris in plenty in picturesque rig <br>The lands of their forefathers roaming, <br>Were weighing their swine, whether little or big, <br>For purchasers paid by the weight of the pig -- <br>The weight of the pig in the gloaming. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And one mighty chieftain, I grieve to relate, <br>The while that his porker was foaming <br>And squealing like fifty -- that Maori sedate, <br>He leant on the pig just to add to its weight -- <br>He leant on the pig in the gloaming. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! for the buyer, an Irishman stout -- <br>O'Grady, I think, his cognomen -- <br>Perceived all his doings, and, giving a shout, <br>With the butt of his whip laid him carefully out <br>By the side of his pig in the gloaming. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A terrible scrimmage did straightway begin, <br>And I thought it was time to be homing, <br>For Maoris and Irish were fighting like sin <br>'Midst war-cries of "Pakeha!" "Batherashin!" <br>As I fled from the spot in the gloaming</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Andrew+Barton+Paterson">Andrew Barton Paterson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=344122" data-title="The Maori Pig Market de Andrew Barton Paterson" data-description="In distant New Zealand, whose tresses of gold The billows are ceaselessly combing, Away in a village all tranquil and old I came on a market where porkers were sold -- A market for pigs in the gloaming. And Maoris in plenty in picturesque rig..."></div> </div> </div>
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