The Falsest Forecast
Mark’s bold forecasts were greeted with doubt
One of his hearers braving “Get out!”
Not just saying it: An exploded shout!
He’d seen, Mark with a bottle of stout,
A celebrant’s gulp and a drunk’s pout…
“Drunkard, no plant does well in harsh drought,
Just as no laborer with a gout.”
But - God! - What force had made him come out!
Hunger for the fame gods talk about
As things all men could do without,
Warning that taking it far rules flout
And whoever does “Consummate lout…
Ben Mark who would other’s views tout,
Letting his lips take on a pig’s snout.
He had the forecast heard from a scout
And now must beat others in a bout…
Some folk is ready for own forecast,
The farmers present for its broadcast
About Ben Mark he could still clout
For wanting to farms hurt and yield rout:
“This week, Mark shall be an outcast
On Earth as forecaster miscast.”
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