|One day I heard a fellow cussin' Kansas;
The weather at that time was somewhat dry.
He was stringin' out profanity by stanzas
And swearin' by the ridge-pole of the sky
That there never was a time in all her hist'ry
When the state was damp enough for man's abode,
And to him it was the deepest kind of myst'ry
Why folks would live where nothin' ever growed.
I met that same old grouch some two weeks after
When every thing was soaking in the rain,
When all the world was filled with song an,
And found that he had altered his refrain.
Of course he still was chawin' and a-cussin',
For he was one you couldn't satisfy.
This time it was a rainin' and a mussin'
When he preferred to have it clear and dry.
He said in all his forty years of livin'
In Kansas he had never failed on grain;
But he had a very definite misgivin'
He was goin' to lose his crop because of rain.
For it always her his wheat before he thrashed it
And sp'iled his corn before he shucked his crop.
But his story made me tired as he rehashed it
And I bade him go and tumble in the slop.
Verdigris Valley Verse
(Coffeyville, Kansas: The Journal Press. 1917)