A PRIZE NARK!
BY SINBAD. With this pernicious weather clerk, I have a mighty bone to pick. He seems to be the world’s prize nark, and his wild version of a lark is quite enough to make one sick. He never stops to muse upon the proper season of the year, or think it’s time the old sun shone, now that September’s nearly gone and summer shortly should be here. Ohl No, a mind perverse is his, for, when our spring attire be sees, in his soul little pleasure is. Says ha: “ I’ll make it now my biz to blast them with a chilling breeze.” And 60 with showers and icy gales the calendar he daily mocks. Kingsford Smith through storm clouds sails, it blows, it rains, it snows, it hails. The weather man sure gives us socks.
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Bibliographic details
Star (Christchurch), Issue 18578, 28 September 1928, Page 9
Word Count
138A PRIZE NARK! Star (Christchurch), Issue 18578, 28 September 1928, Page 9
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