Rain

Rainin’, is it? So it is-- An’ I knew it would. When a man has rheumatiz In this old left stem of his He can tell as good When it’s go’n’ to leak As your fancy weatherman Down here in Chicago can, If he thinks a week. An’ I guess it’s jest because Rheumatiz an’ Nature’s laws Sort of work together-- Lots of moisture in the air, Rheumatiz a-plenty there, Both mean stormy weather.

This left stem of mine can smell Water miles away; This old stem of mine can tell Fifty furlongs from a well Where it ought to lay. An’ I’ll tell you why: This old stem an’ me has tramped, Waded, swum an’ drove an’ camped, Never gittin’ dry, Forty Winters, forty Springs; Do you wonder thet she sings When she smells the water? If you fellahs really knew All that laig an’ me went through Guess you’d think she oughter.

You ain’t never had the luck Swampin’ in the snow; None of you ain’t never stuck To your boot-tops in the muck When it’s ten below. There ain’t none of you Ever drove the Chippeway In the early days of May When a norther blew, When the river water froze In your boots an’ in your clo’es-- Freezin’, thawin’, freezin’. If this stem of mine finds out When there’s water ’round about, Surely there’s a reason.

An’, besides, there’s quite a line Of such signs of rain; There is many another sign ’Ceptin’ this old stem of mine Thet is just as plain. There is bunions yet-- Fer a corn er bunion is ’Most as good as rheumatiz Prophesyin’ wet. When you see a cat eat grass, When you see the small-mouth bass Sendin’ up a bubble, When you hear a rain-crow caw-- It is simply Nature’s law Indicatin’ trouble.

Rainin’, is it? So it seems; It’s a nasty night. Yonder how the street lamp gleams!-- Like the light you see in dreams, Soft an’ far an’ white, Like the light you see When you let life’s half-hitch slip, When you kind of lose your grip On the things thet be. An’ I sometimes think the shore Thet we all are headin’ for Looks so far an’ ghostly ’Cause we’re lookin’ (like to-night We are lookin’ at the light) Through a fog-bank mostly.

How the asphalt pavements shine!-- Almost lookin’ clean. Ev’ry lamp post makes a line Like the shadow of a pine On a snowy scene. In the gutter nigh Little ripples curl an’ comb, Little dirty rivers foam, In an hour to die. They are like the stream of life, Full of work an’ play an’ strife, Proud with splash an’ splutter. Each believes himself a flood-- Most of us is only mud Runnin’ down a gutter.

Rainin’? Sure enough it is, But it ain’t the goods; Doesn’t git right down to biz Like the whirling raindrops whiz Up there in the woods. It’s a city shower, Like the other kinds of stuff In the city, mostly bluff, Lastin’ fer an hour. Up there, when it rains, it rains, Fillin’ rivers, floodin’ plains, Down the mountains washin’. Up there when a rain we git, When we’re really through with it, Things are jest a-sloshin’.

Fer a rainstorm in the brush Is the wettest thing, Ground beneath you soft as mush An’ around you all a hush, Not a bird to sing-- Jest the drippin’ slow Of the raindrops on the leaves, Spillin’ from a billion eaves On the earth below; Jest a blanket in the mire, Jest a smudgy kind of fire, Weak an’ slow an’ smoky; Breakfast--pancakes simply lead; Dinner--wet an’ soggy bread; Supper--biscuits soaky.

Rainin’, is it? So it is. Glad I’m high an’ dry. When a man has rheumatiz In this old left stem of his Keep inside, say I. Now, this city stuff Ain’t like woods rain near as wet, Ain’t like woods rain is, an’ yet It is wet enough. Course the woods rain is the best, It is dampest, healthiest, Better altogether; But I guess I’ll stay inside Tryin’ to be satisfied With this city weather.