As I went over Flinders street
   Upon a torrid summer's day,
A hearty man I chanced to meet
   Perched on a barrel-laden dray.
His face glowed red beneath his hat
   As o'er the black, sun-blistered road,
His horses, plying hooves pit-pat,
   Drew on his precious liquid load.

Serene he went, as one who drove
   A great triumphant chariot,
To serve the gods in some cool grove.
   But I was hot.  Ah, I was hot.
And, irony!  My heart of lead
   Sank down, as with a gesture glad
He waved right merrily and said,
            "Dry, ain't it lad?"

"Den"
Herald, 17 January 1929, p4