Last winter the river rose,
so high it took out homes.
Now this dying river is so low,
it’s literally as dry as a bone.
We have nowhere to go.
We have seen highs and lows,
and found ourselves in,
a place of continuous nos.
We have watched the sunset,
and sunrise too.
Yet we still find ourselves sick,
lonely, and sad in flooded homes,
with Christmas ruined. Wondering,
who cares if the sun rises or sets?