In poor Cumbria yes, but never in our humble Sowerby Bridge, West Yorkshire,

Would I have thought we would've seen devastation leave a sleepy town in a situation so dire,

Unaware, as residents slumbered and dozed,

That rain descended hungrily on the towns and villages of the White Rose.

The River Calder and canal we all knew so well,

Began to rise, grow and swell,

Until eventually ripples turned into powerful surging waves,

Meaning some businesses and cars we were unable to save.

The dirty brown water burst its river banks,

Carrying debris and muck, making small shops and businesses dank,

As menacing water seeped into every kook, cranny and crack,

Our beloved historic bridges weakened, almost broke their backs.

Delays, emergency services and traffic halted,

As our little quiescent community with murky water was assaulted,

Residents who had never seen such a disastrous spectacle,

Gathered like tourists taking photos for Facebook, spellbound at a sight so different and delectable.

But most importantly, as these Boxing Day floods left messy mayhem in their wake,

Not much at all from locals did it take,

To pitch in, help clear up and unite,

And of deflated local business owners ease the burden, lessen their plights.