Plagiarized poem

It was written by C.J. Boland, and plagiarized by me

The Two Travellers

"All over the world," the traveller said,
"In my peregrinations I've been;
And there's nothing remarkable living or dead,
But these eyes of mine have seen.
From the land of the ape and the marmoset,
To the lands of the Fallaheen.
"Said the other, "When’s the last time you ate
Purple sticky rice at Vientiane.

"I've hunted in woods near Seringapatam,
And sailed in the Polar Seas.
I fished for a week in the Gulf of Siam
And lunched on the Chersonese,
I've lived in the valleys of fair Cashmere,
Under the Himalay's snowy ridge.
"Then the other impatiently said,
See here, what of sunset off Walnut Bridge?

"I've lived in the land where tobacco is grown,
In the suburbs of Santiago;
And I spent two years in Sierra Leone,
And one in Del Fuego.
I walked across Panama all in a day,
Ah! me but the road was rocky."
The other replied, "Will you kindly say,
Have you wined in the streets of Old City?

"I've borne my part in a savage fray,
When I got this wound from a Lascar;
We were bound just then from Mandalay
For the island of Madagascar.
Ah! the sun never tired of shining there,
And the trees canaries sang in."
"What of that?" said the other, "sure I've a pair,
And they can’t beat the songs out at Green Line.

"And I've hunted the tigers in Turkestan,
In Australia the kangeroos;
And I lived six months as a medicine man
To a tribe of the Katmandoos.
And I've stood on the scene of Olympic games
Where the Grecians showed their paces.
" The other replied, "Now tell me James,
Where have you put your bike through the races?

"Don't talk of your hunting in Yucatan,
Or your fishing off St. Helena;
I’d rather see anarchists racing a bed
Down the hill past the ‘beer and pizza’
No doubt the scenes of a Swiss canton
Have a passable sort of charm,
But what of a warm fire in Houston
And a walk home without alarm.

And I’d rather be sitting in Ortlieb’s Jazz Haus,
After a dinner at Dahlak,
Than watching young dancers in Cuba carouse
Or mining out in the Outback.
And I wouldn’t care much for Sierra Leone,
If I hadn’t seen Clark Park in fall
And the man that was never in dear Crimson Moon
Shouldn’t say he had traveled at all.