Almeda by John Enders

Rain and leaves of autumn fall 

softly upon

The burned out ashes of this town, 

Children and their mothers/fathers

  have all gone

To live in shelters, motels -- or 

further down.

Oh Devastation! What have 

you brought

To this good people, this village? 

In an hour it blew through and wrought

Like an army come to burn and 

pillage.

Winds of brutal fortune blew 

that day,

Flames and fire ravaged those with

  greatest need.

There is no justice, nothing 

can repay

The pain in all the hearts that bleed. 

Those who choose to fly too 

near the sun

Are at fault for what becomes them.

But if your choice is to die or run,

We must only pity those who 

run then. 

Thousands now await a better day,

If they have chosen yet to stay

Amid the ashes of this 

community.

note: this poem appears on page ten in the December 2020 issue of the Talent Historical Society Newsletter, The Historicale