Thirteen Wasn'T Lucky
Listen to poem:
Streams are running quickly and the snow’s still on the ground
When lightning strikes the mountains and there’s thunder all around.
It’s raining in the foothills and the water’s coming down.
It’s headed for the city, to the center of the town.
Bow rivers banks are swelling and the Elbows running high.
Them dark and heavy clouds just keep on hanging in the sky.
The waters coming fast now like a mighty rising tide.
There’s panic in High River and they flee at Sunnyside.
Farther on below where the Oldman meets the Bow
They’ll be rising up together building fury as they go
Into the South Saskatchewan just North of Grassy Lake.
The lowland folks are leaving with as much as they can take.
It’s pouring in the mountains and it’s pounding at the snow
Til there’s nothing left but water and there’s nowhere else to go.
Into the lakes and valleys and the rivers far below
In a rage of rushing rapids running wild into the Bow.
If you’re anywhere downstream by the river in the Hat
You’re gonna have to leave, there’s no quandary about that.
You can bag until you’re blue but that won’t help you in the end.
Mother Nature’s racing here, she’s just around the bend.
Thirteen wasn’t lucky for the lowlands in the south
The year the rains came raging, rivers foaming at the mouth.
When the big skies of Alberta open up both far and wide
You better take to running, you better find some place to hide.
http://mike-martin.net/Thirteen
Copyright © Mike Martin | Year Posted 2015
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