At the opening of the plaza, the ladies cut cherry cake,
the minister cut the ribbon that ran around the lake,
The big black cars in single file
hurried across the lawn
And the rain clouds in the eastern
sky gathered into a stone
Officials with tarpaulins ran from
the foyer to the pole
Avoiding each other's glances
as large drops began to pour
The guests, ran for cover,
holding plates above their heads.
The minister's speech could not
be heard for the rushing of the air.
The chairman, with a heavy breath,
peered into the sky.
Said, think we'd better call it off
while the cocktails are still dry
The sooner had he spoken when
the thunder had descended
And though the heavens opened
and the rain cascaded down
Coffee and the creamer washed,
the banquets struck with plight
Wheels of furnace spinning in the
doctored sharpened hand
The seven days and nights it rained,
it seemed like seven years
They spent their time by playing
cards and electing volunteers
The lake is cracked and dry,
The sun beats down so
fiercely that it's
painful to the eye,
And the ladies and the
gentlemen present on
that day.
Rapidly declined in hell,
and wasted, cleaned away.