Journeymen up high in the ranking,
high up in the sacred skies,
well schooled and able bodied,
living in a busy atmosphere,
in the hub of the air
with legs that stretch into the sky,
with lofted feet and colossal arms
that move the clouds on cue,
with eyes not seen but eyes that can see
and ears that hear the voice of the master
and the pleas of the
disheartened workers of the fields,
who supplicate you to mix
the hot and cold air together
into a potion that makes the clouds cry,
to respond in a heroic manner
and rescue the parched fields
from laying waste.
Thank you, thank you journeyman,
you archangel of the male order,
you floating servant, the God of the rains,
you noble slave, you messenger of mercy
from your home in the skies,
in the hub of the busy winds,
in respondence to supplications,
your heroic deed shall not go unnoticed.
Your eternal place in the world shall be
seeded above the
most honorable servants,
and thy name shall live forever
in the hearts of all.

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