Some people are born to sit by a river
Some get struck by lightning
Some have an ear for music
Some are artists
Some swim
Some know Shakespeare
Some are mothers
And some people dance
But when the time comes
The storm will roll in
And the levee will break
Then the water will rise
All slow and deliberate
When that time comes
Artifacts and heirlooms
Will be washed away
Or buried beneath silt and rubble
But the recollection remains
And the moments of recall
Will transmute into word
And pass over tongue and lips
And give voice to those
What have gone before
Otherwise washed clean away
And the ghosts of memory
Will touch us and remind us
Of the inevitability of change
And the necessity of remembrance
And the futility of fighting
A clock that runs time to it's own direction
To its own metric