The Twister

Dark swirling clouds and a circular motion:
	the elements twisters all take;
As the wild winds blew , , , I was sure I knew
	a tornado soon they would make.
I hadn't much time to close all the gates,
	barn doors, and chicken coop too-
Wasn't much use . . . . ‘cause after it hit
	the whole mess up the black twister flew.
I grabbed all the children: one, two, three, and four
	five, six, seven, eight, nine and ten.
Where was eleven - ‘lil wha-cha-ma-call-it,
	he'd been playing down by the pig-pen.
Rain pelted down, then turned into hail
	not large. . . .yet still it did hurt.
Yelling and screaming, I ran all about,
	as I searched for that darn ‘lil squirt
The fence got blown down and all over the ground
	were buckets, pitchforks, rakes and hoes.
Everything else was beginning to fly;
	what might be left "God only knows".
‘Ol Mule, in the pasture was bucking real wildly
	the wind sucked his tail in the air.
Yet still I was searching for wha-cha-ma-call-it
	and praying quite loud in despair.
The twister came over the hill, as I saw
	‘Ol Blue - barbed-wire-wrapped ‘round his paw
Time left to save one - I preferred ‘twas my son-
	yet the ten were now safe with their Ma.
Untangling ‘Ol Blue . . . we ran for the cellar
	and there sat ‘lil feller: "darn squirt"
I should have been mad - instead I was glad
	that somehow he hadn't been hurt.
We opened the door and went down with the family
	and there on our knees we all prayed
Thankful that through the destruction and wreck
	together our family had stayed.
The twister was bad, but we certainly had
	a blessing: no life had it cost.
But the greatest surprise, when we peeked out the cellar
	The ‘ol farm house hadn't been lost.
Poem by Ron Baron

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