The House by the River

'Twas the seventh day of September;
autumn had arrived fast,
browning the greenery around me.
For full three months it would last.


A river meandered through the land;
a bird flew above it,
and the river looked to the bird like,
a majestic blue serpent.


Cedar trees adorned the hills,
and spruce and pine and fir.
At sunrise the land livened up
and at dusk stopped the stir.


There stood a house by the river,
meshing into the green.
Made of wood, and nothing else,
oh, it was a splendid scene!


The Singhs occupied the structure,
a family of five and no more.
A mother petite and a father strong,
and the three children they bore.


Two sons and a little girl they were,
who played all day long.
The mother would sometimes play along,
but the father was never home.


There was never a dull moment
in the lives of these strangers,
until the seventh day of September came,
and brought with it looming danger.


The dam up the river broke,
water furiously gushing down.
It seemed as if Neptune was angry at them,
for the house by the river was long gone.


Some sort of semblance came
on the thirteenth day of September.
It was quite ironical you know,
on the thirteenth the flood went to slumber.


Nothing of the house remained,
not a nail or a piece of wood.
The Singhs it seemed had vanished,
for not a single one ever again stood.


They came, lived there and went away;
for Nature took their lives in haste.
And the house by the river was reduced
to nothing but a mound of waste…