Poem by Rudyard Kipling

Parade-Song of the Camp-Animals. 4. Screw-Gun Mules

As me and my companions were scrambling up a hill,
The path was lost in rolling stones, but we went forward still; 
For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, an  turn up everywhere  
And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!
                          
Good luck to every sergeant, then, that lets us pick our road:
Bad luck to all the driver-men that cannot pack a load!
For we can wriggle and climb, my lads, and turn up everywhere,
And it's our delight on a mountain height, with a leg or two to spare!

1. In the Case of Rukhmibhaio
2. Quantities of ’em
3. Quaeritur
4. Index Malorum
5. Reading the Will

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