The wind brings on it's rage, the water higher than any age. Showing no mercy, or want of sparing, The storm goes on, very uncaring.
People cowaring in masses, Both the men, and the lasses, Wonder when natures wrath, will go on down, it's merry path.
Thunderous waves and wind do pillage, upon the poor souls of the village. Only time will tell, if the storm, stays a spell.
Then a stillness, comes across the land. For you see, the eye is at hand. Stars start to dot the night, but we do no step out, because of the fright.
And yet it is, so quiet, tender and reassuring, but the other side, of the eye, will soon be stirring, with a vengence that it will not hide.
And nature's wrath, will set in again, in the pour little town, that I live in. Seeking to wreak havoc, any way it can, upon the souls of ordinary men.
The time has come, the storm is past, and slowly every one comes out, from every nook and cranny, to look at the damage, that is uncanny.
And to thank the Good Lord, his love so giving, that they are still among the living.