It was fifteen years ago this summer
That we left this soggy town
Wet and wetter yet(Much like
today) and moving on

Through ocean farms and farmer tears
McDonalds golden arches gleaming
Calm sign of ruin still under deeps
And we, we were leaving.

From that damp were born anew
something new and strange
but back we came, strangers again
some years ago (ten)

And now again the waters rise
the farmers cry, and something dies
when sandbags aren't enough to save
your town, the things that make your life

Under water, left behind. The future
new and strange. The still ocean fields
and streets belie the mess below, inside.
We can only endure

When muscles aren't enough
Or plans, or sandbags, or even friends
who'll help you slough the mud off anyways
Begin again. Build it new.

The rains will come again, the waters rise
Take our monuments and small town wonders
Fertilize our lives with new beginnings
Even as the old is forced to die (so much manure

Now). Progress? Old brown river laughs
Just change, always change. The water gives,
Takes. Lives. Flows. On and on and on
No choice. No reasons-- Seasons. Life.