A good wit extracted a little affection from the brown smog of 19th Century London by naming it after a popular Madeira, the London Particular.
There's no name to extract affection from the mind-numbing fumes of a glass-making plant smack-dab in 21 C Adelaide.
The Adelaide Fart, or Arse, doesn't fit; you only like the smell of your own. I beg your pardon. Where's a good wit?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem