Tuesday, January 24, 2012

An Ill Wind


My neighbor Bill
To fight the chill
Went to Brazil.
But shivered still
At least until
Up on a hill
With some skill
He built a still.
Drunk to the gill,
His senses nil,
Had a refill
He didn’t spill.
But then got ill
And took a pill,
Flew to Seville
And spread ill will
In a gin mill.
It was a thrill.

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