Kym Taylor | Flood

The aspens were the first to speak

In violent tones they swore

Brave waves drew closer in to hear

While gobbling up the shore

 

The lawn prepared to be consumed

So breathed its final prayer

Then driftwood dealt a mortal wound

Blades begged for blessed air

 

Still just beyond, the house irate

Held fast to solid ground

Too late it recognized its fate

Flood rushed without a sound

 

Harsh water drank to satisfy

Then left the ruins for passers-by

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