The mighty
Breath of air
Roared past,
And,
In a stark moment,
A city of trees
Is no more,
It's just a broken
City,
Awaiting help
In stunned disbelief,
While a hundred
Chain saws,
Strip it bare
Of the wreckage
Of its beauty.
They were spared
The Presidential
Circus
For a week,
A week to
Take stock,
To look for dead,
To gather pictures,
Broken treasures,
But now they've got,
Their photo op,
They can plant
Their trees anew,
And if they live
Ninety years,
Well,
Ninety years more,
They'll see
Their city
Bloom anew,
It's a time,
To contemplate
Our limits,
Forget what
We have lost,
And give thanks,
For what we have,
Amen.