The Blinded Storm

... the storm that lost its eye

From off the coast of Africa
A tropical storm was born.
It gained momentum,
Couldn't make up its mind,
Growing stronger all the while,
Becoming a Category One hurricane,
Hesitating, and flirting with the
Atlantic islands.
The Bahamas played host to it.

The monster was not satisfied:
It thought, "Let me play
With the United States' East Coast folks:
Worry them, tease them, show them
Who's the boss.
I'll wash away their sandy shores
And then their boats I'll toss.
I'll grow stronger, too.
What's a Category One!
I'll play a game, keep growing,
Before my work is done."

And so Floyd accomplished
What hurricanes seldom do:
Why not become a Category Five
And put the gentry in a stew.

Well, we prepared:
Sent ships out to sea,
Shopped till we dropped,
Boarded up Floyd's entry.

The sump pumps on the ready,
Flashlight batteries in their shell,
Portable radios on the table,
Preparations were going well.

Into the Carolinas, Floyd marched
As a Category Four
Its intense rains and blowing winds
Were more than we bargained for.

He continued to Virginia, Pennsylvania,
And New Jersey, too.
Along through Delaware and New York
His havoc really grew.

Then, Floyd was getting tired
From blowing things around,
Enough of wreaking damage
From the sky down on the ground.

Now, his age was getting to him
And his sight was growing dim.
His eye was really blinded
When he reached New England's rim.

Floyd sauntered onto our coast,
Threatening all the while.
But, up above in heaven
God looked down at New England
With a knowing little smile.

It's sad to learn that someone's
Grown weak and lost their sight,
But when Floyd lost his eye on Thursday,
That was quite all right!

In great distress, enfeebled Floyd
Returned his winds to the sky,
And dissipated from Massachusetts
As we waved a joyous goodbye.

May his brother and sister hurricanes
Remain in the heavens above,
So man can tend his daily chores
And concentrate on brotherly love.

Previously published

October 1, 1999