The 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!"