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Ode to Pluviculture

“The Rhyme of the Rain Machine” by F. W. Clarke

Said Jeremy Jonathan Joseph Jones
“The weather is far too dry,
So I reckon I’ll have to stir my bones
And try the effect of concussive tones
Upon the lazy sky.”

So Jeremy Jonathan Joseph went
Away to the nearest town: And there his money was quickly spent
For queer contraptions all intent
To make the rain come down.

There were cannon, and mortars, and lots of shells,
And dynamite by the ton;
With a gas balloon and a chime of bells
And various other mystic spells
To overcloud the sun.

The day was fair and the sky was bright,
And never a cloud was seen;
When Jeremy Jonathan set alight
His biggest fuse and screwed up tight
The joints of the rain machine.

He fired a shot, and barely two,
When the sky began to pale;
The third one brought a heavy dew,
But at the fourth tornadoes blew,
With thunder, rain, and hail.

It rained all night and another day,
And then for a week or more;
It flooded the farm in a scandalous way,
And drowned poor Jeremy, sad to say,
Who Couldn’t stop the pour.

O! Jeremy Jonathan Joseph Jones,
Your farm was fair to see;
But now a lake lies over its stones,
From whose dark bosom horrific moans
Are heard noctallee.

To check the flood you started,
I’ve heard All efforts were in vain;
Until the Bureau at Washington stirred,
And stopped the storm with a single word,
By just predicting – Rain!

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