Kipling was intelligent, of course. He wrote in rhyme and meter admirably suited to the story told. I’m fairly intelligent, and to that point I presented the ballad in the form it was composed. But , fuck me to death, for along comes WordPress’s artificial intelligence, which is as dumb as a rock, dumber than the last president and exemplifies Funk and Wagnalls third definition of artificial, i.e. feigned; fictitious. In its misbegotten, myopic misanthropy it skewers Kipling and, goddamn it to fuck, me! Therefore I suggest you acquire the ballad on the Internet as presented by the Kipling Society. Islander.