A man was driving in his car,
Or carriage, on the road the runs,
Where with his wife and little ones,
His horse did stop
On mountaintop–
Over the vale of Chappaqua
Black as night without a star
Came pitchy darkness on men's eyes,
And then great hailstones from the skies
Rattled around
And with rebound
Drove creatures mad in Chappaqua
The awful grandeur of the scene
Impressed him so it made him clean
Forget himself,
His house and pelt
And all his goods in Chappaqua
Thank God, they're safe! One did debar
Destruction on the road that runs–
To him, his wife and little ones.
Tornadoes pass,
Green grows the grass
In the valley, aye, of Chappaqua.

The New York Times. 5/13/2016.