A Tragedy of Rarotonga
p. 84 · Read in the full issue
\ RASH young man, in Tropic Climes, Just wouldn’t keep up with the times.
His Permit dear was left to waste— And from the tap he’d slake his taste.
The water looked so clean and fresh, But wasn’t filtered through a mesh.
The Plumber, in a cunning way.
Just swopped some pipes, then crept away.
Of Elixir of youth and joy, A glass-full took, this sober bey.
The liquid made him writhe and cough— To see the Quack he staggered off.
This Roman Doc, the works to hear, A stethoscope put to his ear.
A pitying look came to his eye— He said: “Young man, prepare to die!”
The anguish, and the screaming pain, The Annexe dogs would put to shame.
He lasted thus but for a day; Then, mercifully, passed away.
The Inquest was a gory sight, And went on far into the night.
For, from this young man’s miles of guts.
Came eels and tadpoles, bolts and nuts!
This warning, please, take care to heed: For if your stomach has a need, The water, here, comes from a pond— The better stuff comes from the Bond!