As the sun finally rises,
The damage is seen,
As a fallen telephone pole,
Lies beside me.

Wires, telephones poles and transformers,
Dangle inches from the ground.
We're trapped like rats,
With no way around.

We run off well water,
Supplies is low.
Our truck is too big,
Too fit through the tiny holes.

A company truck comes,
And examines the mess,
But turns around,
With a look of distress.

We jack up the quad.
And go for a ride,
Our only way out,
From the mess outside.

We go see a neighbor,
Just down the road.
His head held high,
But his spirits run low.

When we got home,
We cooked up some meat.
Greasy as it was,
It was still a treat.