Catastrophe
She comes in slowly, just a
little rain.
She slides on in lowly,
what a dirty shame.
It’s the little
things that count, in the scheme of things.
It’s the little
things that get you, when the bell rings.
Just a little water, it
comes drop by drop.
Just a little water, and
soon a flood you’ve got.
We sit by like children,
watching beyond our reach.
Then, too late, we flee
like lemmings, into the breach.
Or, we huddle in our
shelter, while the rage is on.
We are helpless in our
plight, while time marches on.
And all the little
creatures with their shelter gone.
Crawl up to bite us, now
that food is gone.
For some it is too late,
they could not swim.
As their space filled up,
overflowing the brim.
Now they are among the
lost, overcome from within.
To be found in the end,
never to be again.
When all is said and done, and the
cleansing begins,
We stand by weary and our sense of
catastrophe sets in.
6/10/01