"A port in any storm," the Padre says.
"A Proverb, probably. Try the tawny next.
With such dark clouds, this rain may last for days
and make dry forces falter sore perplexed
and vying for the snake young Moses flexed
to staff His parting of the ruby sea."
He sips a vintage claret, tastes a Brie,
then puts it by, returning into port.
"Cheers," he adds, "and praise the Deity
who gives their mooted drought this wet retort."