Finding that a touch of shrapnel
Always makes the whole world kindred.
And he soon got fit to grumble,
Grouse and grumble at his diet,
Groused that it was mostly liquid,
Yet without a drop of whisky;
As an exile in the tropics
Pines to smell an English primrose,
So poor thirsty Tiadatha
Pined to smell a Scotch-and-Soda.