Cyclone Season

The mangroves are quiet
There’s no sound of living and no sign of life
Dark clouds are forming
Turning the morning back into the night
Huddled in fear our prayers reassure us
Nature is no match for man in his wisdom but
This is a dangerous time
This is a time without rhyme without reason
This is a time when the outcome can never be known
Cyclone Season
The streets are all empty
The smell of expectancy hangs in the air
A baby is crying
A hammer is beating a final repair
Straining our ears 'til finally we hear it
The high lonesome moaning of anger and fury and
This is a dangerous time etc.
And down at the dockside old Captain McDaniel cries out
«Who's coming with me?
Like Captain Ahab we’ll go out and face it
Throwing our faith on the sea»
This is a dangerous time etc.