Danny James

It arrives odd hours my sweeping inspirations; a torrential outpouring that, warrantless rains hard with no remark to my good pattern and springs me from recess semi-witted, into duty. A catch or two o’ the break would keep me in high cheer and portly health for days, and so fretting about the cabin, sought a handy pail, barely at most have I hope or humour to hold a vessel high and exclaim ‘it falls, how it falls,’ that it no sooner starts raining but it stops.