“’OW can it rain,” the old man said, “with things the way they are?
You’ve got to learn off ant and bee, and jackass and galah;
And no man never saw it rain, for fifty years at least,
Not when the blessed parrakeets are flyin’ to the East!”
. . . . .
“It’s still as dry as dust,” he said, “I’m feeding all the ewes;
The overdraft would sink a ship, but make your mind at rest,
It’s all right now, the parrakeets are flyin’ to the West.”