Old Jack Thorson was a weather show host
Famous he was from mountain to coast
Weathermen are a curse,
Many bad, some are worse
Truly, Thorson seemed closer than most
Truth be, old Jack was always correct
It wasn’t just his, the signs to connect
Although he was gallant
He knew his true talent,
The weather was his to direct
When Thorson said rain, the river would rise
Declare he the sun, it’s 90 for highs
He predicted the storm,
He said when it would warm
Forecast snow? It was up to your thighs
It happened once during the wettest of fall
Thorson came home and got a phone call
A young boy sought drying
Although he was dying,
For he wanted to see some baseball
Jack looked at the radar, examined the sky
All systems said rain, but he wanted it dry
There appeared little doubt
Baseball’s chances were out
Failure loomed, but he just had to try
It was Thorson, God, the boy had trusted
Jack flew to work, the clouds were adjusted
Right now was the hour,
He tested his power
Still downpour and deluge, wind gusted
Then thunder was banned, the rain disappeared
Sunlight broke out as the pitcher’s time neared
The crowd gathered there saw
People gazed up in awe,
“Weather God!” all the masses there cheered
When letters, they came, all were seeking his aid
“Create sun for crops”, for showers they prayed
“Prohibit the rain,
Flooding’s due soon in Spain”
“The World Series cannot be delayed!”
Putting out fires, with his own hand
Growing plants in the high desert sand
Refilling the lakes,
Flashing ski slopes with flakes
Christmas white and the spring wedding grand
Jack was so rushed, he began to feel ill
All of the people soon wanted his skill
Without any checks
He misjudged his effects
Unwanted things started to spill
For planets are globes, no matter how stout
and changes have ways of moving about
Although clouds were thinned
Blizzards grew on the wind
Every shower was countered by drought
And then a cry came, and oh, it was dire
“Thorson come quick, for Wheatville’s on fire”
He put down the smoke,
Sadly then the dam broke
Forty six lay there dead in the mire
Oh, how people in pain can forget
In rage they came and on him beset
Wiping tears from his eyes
Old Jack hears all their cries
Yells of revenge drown his cries of regret
Thorson looked up to the heavens, so high
Cumulonimbus formed in the sky
Lightning flashed from the cloud,
Hit him with his head bowed
Weather God’s final act, a bulls-eye
Now over the stone’s a perpetual squall
Raining right there, where he managed to crawl
“Buried here where he trod,
Sorry, not Weather God
Just a Weather Man, it seems,
after all”
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Submission Name: Just a Weatherman
it was fun).