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The Prophets

Edward S. Sorenson

“It’s goin’ to rain, that’s as sure as eggs.”
    Said Dad as he rubbed his hip.
“Rheumatics is screwin’ all down me legs,
    An’ me corns is givin’ me jip.”
But the creek got low as the weeks went by,
And there was no change in the cloudless sky.

“Its goin’ to rain, so be on your guard,”
    Said Mum an she got the tea.
“The salt is damp an’ the sugar’s hard,
    An’ the flies as bad as can be.”
But wash days came and the wash-days went,
And creek-scum boded but discontent.

“We’ll soon ‘ave rain, an’ a flood, by gees!”
    Said Joe, with his neck a-reek.
“The ants are cartin’ their eggs up trees,
    An’ the frogs are leavin’ the creek.”
But the cows got bogged and the bush-fires blazed,
And left the prophet half-blind and dazed.

“It’s goin’ to rain, an’ it’s goin’ to soon,”
    Said Sarah, “I’ll make y’ a bet.
Just look at the rings around the moon.
    An’ the way that the wind is set.”
But the creek went dry and the grey mare died,
And still was the salve of a change denied.

Then Grandfather Mole in his big straw hat
    Saw signs in the gum-tree boles—
“The black cockatoos ‘ave come down to the flat,
    An’ the spiders are roofin’ their holes.”
But a duststorm rose in the sweeping rage,
And dashed the hopes of the weather sage.

And then one day at the kitchen door.
    While sipping her morning cup,
The one-eyed lubra who scrubbed the floor
    Said, “Big feller rain come up.”
And “sure as eggs” and “by gees” and that.
It rained and flooded the whole dam’ flat.

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