OLD MACDONALD'S LAWN (+ Polyphonic Prose)

The torrential rainstorm was relentless and all the neighbors defenseless. As the weather grew worse, so might the day. I feared for young May and her gray grandfather, with their farm across the way. Their farmhouse was close by the river’s edge there, and it wasn’t clear how they would fare. There is where the bank is weakest, and the pair should both beware. I could see it well. When the lightning struck their fence, it was like all the fires of hell. It was just a short run, to see what could be done, but Mary’s grandfather seemed somewhat stupefied and stunned. He walked back and forth, the water chest high, when I tried calling out, he did not reply to my cries. Turning to May, she said, “Yesterday, grandpa complained, in spite of hell or high water, he would mow the front lawn today.”