At the onset of the storm of the century
The museum doors opened
The windows shattered
All the portraits flew out to find their spirits
All the birds were blown in like wind
The landscapes came alive
Statues took up their weight and left
Saying frightful things as they passed

Much of the art was swept away
Lightning burned a tree of paint
Abstract art dematerialized
My impression of impressionism
Instantly blurred
The pop art survived like tattoos

But that wasn’t the whole picture
The rain fell through the open roof
Emily Carr’s forests grew even greener
Tom Thompson’s lakes flooded
Installation pieces floated about
It was really a pleasant disaster
A distraction from the seriousness of art