Yes things seem bad.
That's what I'm told.
You'd think that gas,
Was made from gold.

But for every extra dollar
I begrudgingly plunk down,
It does not compare,
To New Orleans' town.

As we complain
About that buck,
There are those who are happy
For a ride on a truck.

As we drive away
To our nice dry home.
There are lost souls
Who can only roam.

Lost are the things
That aided their life
Homes, cars and food.
Now hearts filled with strife.

We need to be thankful
For what God provides
For it could all disappear,
If our worlds collide.

So the next time you fill up,
And think you are bled
Remember those souls
And the tears that they shed.

By Laurie Luberti ©
Sept 3, 2005