Perhaps it’s Neptune’s wrath, whims of kelpie, or serpents best left alone

The stirring, whirring creatures of the deep, competing for a throne.

Leviathans below the surface, kraken at the gate

Tentacles and mouths full of teeth, below the surface wait.

Poseidon, or Proteus, or some other vengeful oceanic gods,

Sentinel before the tempest, consigned to face the odds

Throw a tempest’s tantrum, blustering off the coast

Storm clouds hammering tears, winds a prideful boast.

Gods of the Atlantic and Pacific, assume in their demands

Out stretching past their realm, trespassing on to land.

Guardian before the swirling mass, defiant as it encroaches

Ready to face the raging squall, on guard as it approaches

Preparations have been made, rations and supply.

Your ferocity as you steadily spread cannot be denied

We stand vigilant before our homes, and though some may die

You cannot take us from this place, our hope and our pride.

So, frenzy and blow, howl and blubber and whatever else you choose

Whatever the outcome, life goes on, in the end you loose

We shall rebuild, we shall endure, and thrive again once more

Ready and waiting should you return to wage your futile war.

To curse and swear, fingers in the air, standing upon the shore.

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