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O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Story Bone

That was the day that birthed a thousand orphans.

A thousand orphans were born that day.

In the shadows of the saucers a thousand orphans were born.

The day the saucers came, orphans were born by the thousands.

The scream of saucers masked the birth cry of a thousand orphans.

Take your pick, or any alternative.

2 comments:

Elizabeth said...

I thought that was going to be a poem at first, and then it started looking like one of those responsive psalms in church.

Steve Buchheit said...

I guess they could be read that day. I just wrote down the first line, and then my brain rewrote it. And then rewrote that one, wash, rinse, repeat.