old weathered hat and driving a beat up Ford
promising rain and blessings from the Lord
lines in his face told many a tall tale
“so much rain without any hail”
people lined up and gave what they could
no one doubted his forked stick of wood
pointed at the sky to drill water from above
the hot sun mocked them and with held its love
for over three hours the man railed and chanted
farmers dreamed of crops not yet planted
not a drop came down and the crowd grew angry
called him vile things even a damn yankee
the man drove away as tar and feathers chased
feeling so wronged at the money and the waste
later that night when children were asleep
came a sound of thunder from a well so deep
the rain came down in buckets like a flood
crops washed away in a river of mud
for days and nights the rain came down
rivers of destruction washed away the town
all that is left is a rusty weather vane
and the memory when once there came a hard rain