The Morning After
The floodwaters shimmer with opalescence in the morning sun
The torrential rain finally comes to a halt
In the stillness of it all floats the body of the banker’s son
Six feet above-ground, his grave on the asphalt
Birds stir cautiously above in the stripped-down trees
Their intertwining voices weaving a fragile song
A tattered American flag wavers in the cool breeze
Some buildings in ruins while others hold strong
As the waters retreat, remnants of a past life emerge
Scattered belongings and overturned furniture drift
While some may view the flood as a natural scourge
Others may see it as a revitalizing gift
The deep blue, empty sky holds a surreal clarity
As if having been cleansed by the storm before
Devastation occurs for the sake of posterity
New life emerges from the grasp of the great war
Wetlands breathe and fertile soil is restored
Fish of many shades explore the new habitat
Nature replenishes itself, humanity ignored
But it’s always possible to rebuild the laundromat
Shadows stretch long over the worn-down earth
Leaving a story of withering sadness behind
The grief and pain of the people entwined in rebirth
A message in the ruins, both cruel and kind
There is strange beauty in the morning after
When everything comes to a head
In the silence of the town hear Mother Nature’s laughter
O’er the skies and the trees and the flooded riverbed
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