Or pulled my little compass out and pondered,
And set it sadly on my shrapnel hat,
Which, I suppose, was why the needle wandered,
Only, of course, I never thought of that.
And then perhaps some 5·9's start dropping,
As if there weren't sufficient holes about;
I flounder on, hysterical and sopping,
And come by chance to where I started out,
And say once more, while I have no objection
To other people going to Berlin,