Tuesday, May 21, 2019


Hunt for the wounded warrior.

by James E. Peeche.

Way - O - way
On my way
To the day
That they say

Tiger of Tasman
Little Tiger O
People now know
How weak you grow

People brought in
Such as me
James E. Peeche

Knowing little
Of how they live
Told only
Bring them in

Day - o - way
On the day
That we will meet
Little tiger of Tasman

People furrow
Brow to know
Just the way
That it did go

Looking on
From long shot on
Tiger known
To tip-toe

People grown
Now they know
How to track
How to trap

Tiger known
Tracks traced back
Finding faeces
Lost my hat

Born on barnacle
Not on beech
My two weary
Little feet

Tiger seen

People Shout
Snout run about
Tiger gone
Weeks Forlorn

People with me
Wheel and whoop
I buckle down
And wander off

Silent shod
On I trod
Follow not
I fear not

Not fail

Weapon ready
Send a shot
Not run off

If Tiger seen
Will be a dream
Hero me
They will see

On I trod
Feet still shod
In some muck
And my shock

Every day
For whole way
I think to self
Hunt, Hunt!

Track, Trap
Hunt not trap
Now see so clearly
Mistake not me, but thinking

Creep round bend
Rifle end
Tiger seen
Silly me...

I still feel shy recounting this story, Shame of my life. I Died in 1965.
This is the story of the absolute last Thylacine (Tasmanian Tiger.)
 - James E Peeche. E.