of water."
     The mother turned with an angry frown
       Holding back her daughter.

     "But mother, see, they faint with thirst,
       They march away to die,"
     "Ah, sweet, had I but known at first
       Their throats are always dry."

     "There is no water can supply them
       In western streams that flow,
     There is no fruit can satisfy them
       On orchard trees that grow."

     "Once in my youth I gave, poor fool,
       A soldier apples and water,
     So may I die before you cool
       Your father's drouth, my daughter."