Its thick and multi-layered body suspended like second thought
drifts gangster-like through the atmosphere, touching cloud after cloud.
And once touched, the darkened weep
As if boots drive at their fluffy backsides,
reportedly heaving and weeping nationwide:
Releasing on the hill as on the valley; on the coast as on the interior;
on the red chamber as on the blue; on the small Canadian as on the giant,
horrible hurricane-like bouts of rain,
Rain that’s expected to continue
all day today and into tomorrow.
Senator Crony, who robbed the mint and lamented its small store,
He cried likewise, for days and days; but not over boots to the derriere,
Sadly, not over boots to his derriere.
After deflecting to space our northern light, he left us dark
while he lamented how poorly we padded his overspilling trunk
at the machinations of his master, who tasked him with thievery,
cost him a score — good name included — then to top off the lies,
left him aggrieved and
nearly without a pickle in the pantry as winter draws nigh;
How Crony cried!
Crony outpoured on man and nation,
plenteous cold, condensed emotions so acidic in nature,
a little splash on lord and layman
instantly burnt and blinded the lot.
As of him, beware these sensational rains.