Unseen by the naked eye,
A wee little bit of Latin,
Baptised in a mud-pool nigh ;
An insignificant creature,
A germ of the fungoid race,
But a terror at propagation,
And a regular real hard case. I've been chased from many a corner,
From a resting-place serene,
When the townspeople swept their gutters,
And the streets were all kept clean;
But I've never had far to wander,
There was always a swamp or a drain,
Or the scum and the filth in the hollows
Made a capital nest again. I fly on the wings of Summer,
And float on the poisoned air,
With a lot of,other bacilli,
Meandering everywhere;
Sisters, and brothers, and cousins,
We cluster, and throng, and crowd;
And wherever we find a harbour,
The sturdiest frames are bowed. I float o'er the darkened sickroom,
And I smile at the anxious eye,
For I rule with a rod of iron,
And gloat o'er my triumph nigh;
And I laugh at the fire-flushed forehead,
For the end I can plainly see,
And the chill cold face on the pillow
Is a revel of bliss to me. I am only a little bacillus,
A meek-looking sort of chap;
But once let me get the grip on,
And your life isn't worth a rap.
Just give me a show next summer,
And you'll find that my words are true,
Though a poor little weak bacillus,
You'll see what a germ can do. Notes From the Victorian Newspaper The Kyabram Union and Rodney Shire Advocate 13 Jul 1894 p. 5.