The Lost Village

The Lost Village


A picturesque village on the side of a hill.
Happy people with children at play.
Adobe houses standing in proud Brazil,
No one guessing or knowing what’s underway.

The aroma of bread baking sends odors wafting in the air.
Hot cooking smells mix with the sweet scent of flowers.
Young mulattos mamas comb their lovely black hair,
Husbands leave to go to work far away, within the hour.

First, clouds gathered quickly as midday arrived.
Then rain poured down like a river gone wild.
Next the flash of hot lightning and everyone strived
As pale, worried women hurried to find every scared child.

No one thought that a hurricane with fury could strike.
No one’s heart was ever touched with such great pain.
But the vile forms found buried at the bottom of the dike.
Left memories of the lost village for grieving men remain.