A Farmer's Life

According to the day’s reports the farmer is receiving the present rain with mixed feelings since, it is explained, the present downpour, while scarcely enough for his wheat, is already too much for his fruit trees.

Oh, the farmer’s life’s a gamble, and he loses every way;
It’s all one elusive scramble with the weather day by day,
And he’s doomed to disappointment whether it be wet or dry,
Since for ever in his ointment lurks an aggravating fly.

Blame him not, then, if his boot-trees
He flings round in savage heat,
When the rain that swamps his fruit trees
Hardly deigns to wet his wheat!

Never in a month of Sundays is the happy medium struck;
Other men have lost, or won, days—but the farmer’s out of luck
All the time. And, if he grumbles, can we blame him, you and I,
As through life he sadly stumbles—half too wet and half too dry?

Some fresh woe to keep him beat
Up at every turn, poor brute!
For the rain that stints his wheat
Crop simply inundates his fruit!