Here is one I wrote in the spring of 1998. It was a disaster of sorts. Melody has a bluegrass tempo.
Beer


THE STORM OF 98
(Adrien Doucette)

In the year of 98 when folks were sleeping and would not wake.
The Ice storm came at our front gate and would not go away.
Well people in the morning would not believe,
When they woke up to the bent down trees.
The lights were out there was no heat.
Yet the children played.

Now the news man said, don't be late,
Gather up candles at the market place.
It's not to late if you want some heat,
But the stores will be empty soon.
I couldn't believe when I ventured there,
Candles, batteries the shelves were bare.
Said " My God", what am I gonna do.

Yet the children played, as we prayed.
Yes they played, as we prayed.

Two, four, six more days, still no heat but yet we prayed.
Branches, trees, all broke down.
Streets of the city was a big ghost town.
Hydro lines and telephone poles.
"Oh my God but how it's cold".
Generators breaking down,
Yet the children played.

Chorus

Help came from far and wide,
Without their aid we'd not survive.
Death came it was not surprise,
To the old, weak, and lame.
My neighbor who at 85,
Lost his love yet he survived, ( strum, but a pause. No words. As if thinking.)
Yet the children played.

Red Lake and the Sagunay, How they suffered yet they came.
Newfoundland to Halifax, P.E.I. did their best.
Friends to the South and the great out West,
Jumped in their trucks and shared our stress.
The army left their babes asleep,
Yet the children played.

Oh yes they played,
As we prayed.
In the storm of 98.

Adrien Doucette
1998