Rainy Day at Fort Karr
The rain on the plain is mainly a pain,
For oft though it does fall,
The land it remains both dry and bare,
And little grows at all.
It musses the hair of heads uncloaked,
Interfering with their vanity,
To a certain nymph of godly name,
A disaster for his sanity.
Whether sent by Verossa in her rage,
Or by Forian on a whim,
Chances of a day here without rain,
Seem unreasonably slim.