The River Claims Her Own

Now clouds hang low and shed their rain
from a bruised and swollen sky:
the river claims her own again.

The plains-folk watch with eyes of pain
where their farm land once was dry,
now clouds hang low and shed their rain.

Every hour is the river's gain,
it's no use to wonder why:
the river claims her own again.

The water creeps, a darkened stain,
and the women will not cry;
now clouds hang low and shed their rain.

The men look grim and show the strain,
as they shake their heads and sigh:
the river claims her own again.

Their levees fail, all built in vain;
they must bid their land goodbye.
Now clouds hang low and shed their rain,
the river claims her own again.