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.