Our heirlooms dear twirling the drain,
As clouds may defy weathervane,
We survey the skies,
And still scrutinize.
Oh, when will the rain ever wane?
.
Our vision is blinded, behold,
As power lines dangle, out cold.
Our home modified,
Dismantled, beside,
By forces beyond our control.
.
A doll in the downpour may smile;
Assimilation is her style.
The rest of us groan
For all that we own,
Possessions we've tried to stockpile.
.
This baptism banal takes shape,
With every discarded drape.
Ablution evades,
As groundwater raids
Our homestead with no near escape.
.
Insurance adjusters want blood,
Replacing each stick in the mud.
Most items unpaid
Make memories fade,
Along with the force of the flood.
.
Yet gratitude comes in a flash,
Considering in the backlash -
We all are unhurt,
Despite damp and dirt
And treasure troves tossed in the trash.
.
Published by Linda Ann Nickerson - Featured Contributor in Lifestyle and Sports
Linda Ann Nickerson brings decades of reporting and a globally minded Midwestern perspective to a host of topics, balancing human interest with history, hard facts and often humor. View profile
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14 Comments
Post a CommentNice :)
very good. I live in one of last year's flood regions.
How true! And you said it so well! Kudos!
Scary stuff. We are totally at the mercy of Mother Nature. You are really good at the limeric style poem. Keep up the good work!
Beautiful poem, hope things dry out in your area soon.
Loved the poem! :-)
So are we (starving for rain down here in Alabama.) Loved your limericks poem.
Great poem. Ironically, we've been starving for enough rain down here in Central Florida.
Very nice poem!! Thanks.
Very nicely said