P. L. Hunter

(Aylesbury, Bucks, England)

The Cylcone

We are confused heartsore bloodied and raw
We reel like drunkards who cannot drink any more
But you Domoina hissed and spat gorged yourself full
You reared and charged like a big angry bull
You rose and rose till your water covered our land
Then being replete, you belched out the sand

Frail bodies now dead. Families torn apart
You wretch Domoina, you went for our heart

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