‘Twas an ill wind blowing on that August day.

‘Twas a portent of what was headed that way.

All saints and sinners, aye ye better take heed,

of the storm they called Katrina.

 

All the anchors were down and the sails were moored,

every shutter was nailed, every treasure was stored.

The warning went out, but some would n’er concede

to the storm they called Katrina.

 

Through the dark of night you could hear her roar

and the water kept rising past the reservoir,

as every saint and sinner prayed for relief

from the storm they called Katrina.

 

The blues never abandoned New Orleans.

By the light of day you could hear the screams,

and each day brought new devastation and grief 

from the storm they called Katrina.

 

Days went by and no one came to the aid

of the helpless souls who were so afraid.

Still, some looted and raped and paid no heed

to the storm they called Katrina.

 

The swells have fallen but there still remains

the toxic sludge, and the shameful stains

on those who turned their backs that day

on the victims of Katrina.

 

‘Twas an ill wind blowing on that August day.

‘Twas a portent of the dame headed that way.

All saints and sinners, aye ye should have taken heed,

of the storm they called Katrina

 

of the storm they called Katrina…

 

Susan J.