Bless this house, oh Lord we cry,
Please keep it cool in mid-July.

Bless the walls where termites dine,
And ants and roaches march in time.

Bless our yard where spiders pass
Fire ant castles in the grass.

Bless the garage, a home to please
Carpenter beetles, ticks and fleas.

Bless the love bugs, two by two,
The gnats and mosquitoes that feed on you.
Millions of creatures that fly or crawl,
In Florida, Lord, you've put them all!

But this is home, and here we'll stay,
So thank you Lord, for INSECT SPRAY.
-Author Unknown

Bless our Florida vacation, oh Lord we pray,
Please keep us safe every day.

Bless the weather, the clouds, the sun,
May the rain not keep us from fun.

Bless the lines in traffic we'll wait,
May we always behave like a saint.
Help us especially to try not to fuss,
When so many are in line ahead of us.

Bless our wallet, our credit cards too,
May we have enough money to visit the zoo.

Florida is such a great destination, Lord,
Please make it one

THAT WE CAN AFFORD!

-Author Dawn Henthorn

'Twas the night before Frances, When all through the state
Not a gas pump was pumping,  Not a store open late

All the plywood was hung, On the windows with care
Knowing that a hurricane, Soon would be there

The children were ready, With flashlights in hand
While bands from the hurricane, Covered over the land

And mamma with her Mag-Lite, And I in my cap
Had just filled the bath tub, For flushing our crap

When out on the lawn, There arose such a clatter
I sprang from the closet, To see what was the matter

The trees on the fence, And the neighbor's roof torn
Gave the fear of us dying, In this terrible storm

With a little wind gust, So lively and quick
I remembered quite clearly, Our walls weren't brick

More rapid than eagles, Her courses they came
And she whistled, and wafted, And surged all the same
Off shingles! Off sidings! Off rooftops! Off power!
Down trees! Down fences! Down trailers! Down towers!
In the center of Florida, She continued to maul
Screaming Blow Away! Blow Away! Blow Away All!

As wind ripped and tossed, The debris through the sky
I peeked out the shutters, At cars floating by

So go to the safe-room, My family did do
With a portable radio, And batteries too

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the set
The end was not coming, For a few hours yet!

As I calmed down the kids, And was turning around
Through the window it came, With a huge crashing sound

A tree branch it was, All covered in soot
The wind blew it smack-dab, On top of my foot

A bundle of twigs, Now lay in a stack
And my living room looks, Like it was under attack

The wind - how it howled! The storm - very scary!
Myself and the family, Were all too unwary

The dangers of hurricanes,  Are serious, you know
They are taken for granted, As Frances did show

With the winds dying down, And the danger beneath
I noticed my tool shed, Was missing its sheath

So I grabbed my last tarp, And nailed it on down
Then I got in my car, And I headed to town

The traffic was awful, And stores had no ice
My five gallon cooler, Would have to suffice

Generators were scarce, Not one left in town
There were trees on the roads, And power lines down

FEMA was ready, With people to work
Electrical companies, Came in from New York

And in the midst of, This peculiar routine
Another storm emerged, Named Hurricane Jeanne

I sprang to the car, And gave my family a whistle
Then away we all went, Like a Tomahawk missile

You could hear us exclaim, As we drove out of sight
"Fare well to this place, Vermont seems just right!"
-Author Unknown

The state with the prettiest name,
the state that floats in brackish water,
held together by mangrave roots
that bear while living oysters in clusters,
and when dead strew white swamps with skeletons,
dotted as if bombarded, with green hummocks
like ancient cannon-balls sprouting grass.
The state full of long S-shaped birds, blue and white,
and unseen hysterical birds who rush up the scale
every time in a tantrum.
Tanagers embarrassed by their flashiness,
and pelicans whose delight it is to clown;
who coast for fun on the strong tidal currents
in and out among the mangrove islands
and stand on the sand-bars drying their damp gold wings
on sun-lit evenings.
Enormous turtles, helpless and mild,
die and leave their barnacled shells on the beaches,
and their large white skulls with round eye-sockets
twice the size of a man's.
The palm trees clatter in the stiff breeze
like the bills of the pelicans. The tropical rain comes down
to freshen the tide-looped strings of fading shells:
Job's Tear, the Chinese Alphabet, the scarce Junonia,
parti-colored pectins and Ladies' Ears,
arranged as on a gray rag of rotted calico,
the buried Indian Princess's skirt;
with these the monotonous, endless, sagging coast-line
is delicately ornamented.

Thirty or more buzzards are drifting down, down, down,
over something they have spotted in the swamp,
in circles like stirred-up flakes of sediment
sinking through water.
Smoke from woods-fires filters fine blue solvents.
On stumps and dead trees the charring is like black velvet.
The mosquitoes
go hunting to the tune of their ferocious obbligatos.
After dark, the fireflies map the heavens in the marsh
until the moon rises.
Cold white, not bright, the moonlight is coarse-meshed,
and the careless, corrupt state is all black specks
too far apart, and ugly whites; the poorest
post-card of itself.
After dark, the pools seem to have slipped away.
The alligator, who has five distinct calls:
friendliness, love, mating, war, and a warning--
whimpers and speaks in the throat
of the Indian Princess.

-Author Elizabeth Bishop