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James Whitcomb Riley - Wet Weather Talk
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It ain`t no use to grumble and complain;
    It`s jest as cheap and easy to rejoice:
  When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,
      W`y, rain`s my choice.

  Men giner`ly, to all intents--
    Although they`re ap` to grumble some--
  Puts most their trust in Providence,
    And takes things as they come;--
      That is, the commonality
      Of men that`s lived as long as me,
      Has watched the world enough to learn
      They`re not the boss of the concern.

  With _some_, of course, it`s different--
    I`ve seed _young_ men that knowed it all,
  And didn`t like the way things went
    On this terrestial ball!
      But, all the same, the rain some way
      Rained jest as hard on picnic-day;
      Er when they railly wanted it,
      It maybe wouldn`t rain a bit!

  In this existence, dry and wet
    Will overtake the best of men--
  Some little skift o` clouds`ll shet
    The sun off now and then;
      But maybe, while you`re wondern` who
      You`ve fool-like lent your umbrell` to,
      And _want_ it--out`ll pop the sun,
      And you`ll be glad you ain`t got none!

  It aggervates the farmers, too--
    They`s too much wet, er too much sun,
  Er work, er waiting round to do
    Before the plowin``s done;
      And maybe, like as not, the wheat,
      Jest as it`s lookin` hard to beat,
      Will ketch the storm--and jest about
      The time the corn `s a-jintin` out!

  These here cy-clones a-foolin` round--
    And back`ard crops--and wind and rain,
  And yit the corn that`s wallered down
    May elbow up again!
      They ain`t no sense, as I kin see,
      In mortals, sich as you and me,
      A-faultin` Nature`s wise intents,
      And lockin` horns with Providence!

  It ain`t no use to grumble and complain;
    It`s jest as cheap and easy to rejoice:
  When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,
        W`y, rain`s my choice.
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