Two storms developed by late June;
July and August? Not a peep.
I’m praying, as I go to sleep,
Protect us, as I know one’s coming soon.
In middle August, wind and rain
Expelled us, from our Southern keep.
The cat and babe watched Andrew creep
And scour the land, and scatter pain.
And on this date, two-thousand-five,
New Orleans bathed in waters deep,
And bureaucrats behaved like sheep,
And many died, who now should be alive.
There are four storms that fell this late
Upon the land. Look how they keep
The records, neatly! Who would weep,
To see four names, in twenty years, this date?
So many more have struck this beach,
Most with no name, like Nemo, deep
In history buried. Feel the creak
Of the ship, that seeks Leviathan to reach.
A quarter century since we fled.
We’ve weathered waves, but not as steep,
Till Irma put that babe to sleep.
What’s next, with Andrew cowed, and put to bed?
Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew