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Poem	Shock-headed blackfellow, Boy (on a pony). Snowflakes are falling Gentle and slow, Youngster says, "Frying Pan What makes it snow?" Frying Pan, confident, Makes the reply -- "Shake 'im big flour bag Up in the sky!" "What! when there's miles of it? Surely that's brag. Who is there strong enough Shake such a bag?" "What parson tellin' you, Ole Mister Dodd, Tell you in Sunday-School? Big pfeller God! "Him drive 'im bullock dray, Then thunder go; Him shake 'im flour bag -- Tumble down snow!"
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