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I never made a prohibition speech, Nor eulogized thee as a proper beverage; But there is one conclusion which I reach: That there are spheres in which thou hast the leverage. And though I don't expect to use thee freely, I'll speak no more of thee with contumely. Although for food thou art not well designed, More due, perhaps, to thy extreme fluidity; And though thou dost at times drown human kind, And wipe out towns with unforeseen rapidity; And though thou lackest that fine beady flavor Which if thou hadst would give thee much more favor: Still, thou dost make the wheat and corn crops grow, While then the people seem content with amity, And no old played-out politicians go Around and sound the hew-gag of calamity: And all the people seem to have some reason; And all the crops somehow arrive in season. I've almost made my mind up that I'll try And get accustomed to thy potability; Since thou as rain descending from the sky Dost give us such political tranquility, For every time thou comest as a soaker Thou endest all there is of some old croaker. |
