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


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