'Twas on March the eleventh, in twenty-ten-one,
Nippon beaches were simmering, bathed by the sun.
The clock-watchers hung out, with slim hours to spare,
In hopes that their weekend fun soon would be there.

Those workers were restless, with plug-ins and meds,
While visions of things to come danced in their heads.
But broad plates 'neath sea surface, where pirate guys nap,
Had unsettled old strains that had long sought to snap.

Then on the horizon arose such a swelling,
We sprang, full of dread, to flee back to safe dwelling.
We prayed to our Shinto gods, flew like a flash.
Shores opened with shuddering, thundering crash.
Like 'soon from the west that could hew, squall and blow,
Waves had bluster that could sway all objects below.

Then what more than thundering skies did I fear
But a tidal wave, spraying great briny rain near.
As befits a survivor, I strive to be quick;
I knew what was floating might bust even brick.

More rapid than seagulls was tidal wave's ride,
And I bristled and shouted, "Can walls stem high tide?"
It dashed on and answered: no chance, sir; I'm mixin'
Spawned vomit with goop from out yonder, and blitzin'
To the top of the beach, o'er the top of the wall.
Now smash away, mash away, trash away haul!

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Flotsam beat down each obstacle, soon was piled high.
Then down from the rooftops the waters withdrew.
'Twas a day full of noise; then faint silence ensued.