Traveling one day in the desert

I was worried and ill at ease

When my motor began to splutter

And I thought she was going to seize.

 

So I pulled to the side of the roadway

And waited for "workshops" to come

When there leaped from a yellow wagon

Three desperate, determined men.

 

Ah! These were the section's fitters

Armed with spanners and files to the teeth

Who clambered on top of my wagon

And one got underneath.

 

They probed at various components

In a tentative, hopeful way

But results, by their worried expressions

Were the worst they'd had that day.

Then they hit on a new plan of action

With the requisite tools in their hands

They scattered my motor in pieces

Over the desert sands.

 

Then they all started in to re-build it

And when they had nearly done

One shot from the drivers cabin

As a bullet shoots from a gun.

 

There followed a long altercation

Both technical and very profane

It may be only in Hellfire

I shall hear words like that again.

Then they gave me an explanation

And Brother, it sounded grand

But they spoke in such technical language

I just didn't understand.

 

                                                          I treasured the words they were saying

As I treasure their memory yet

                                                                     For fear that I might forget.

                                                               And it wasn't till several days later

                                                                  With the dictionary's skilful use