Julian Scutts Poet Rhyme

The Great Flood of 1342

There is a power the mightiest king can neither calm nor tether.
What power? you ask. The task I mean goes by the name of weather.
It was on Saint Mary Magdalene's Day in  1342,
on the twenty-second of July, a fact known but to few,
a raging fearful deluge descended from on high
like none since Noah's flood. In truth I do not lie.
It took away the rich man's house, it swept over hill and lea,
it blackened many a  verdant plain as far as eye could see.
Every  land in Christendom, from Wales to the tip of Spain
witnessed great loss of wealth and life, saw  sorrow and great pain.
'Repent, ye sinners! the prelate  preached. Pray God relieve this curse.'
In ignorance the people thought nothing could be worse.
but worse did come, not tarrying long, i whisper in low breath,
from Tartar land on the Black Sea shore. Alas, it was Black Death.

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