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Eleventeen!

It is almost Thursday!

Radix has a rant!

Someone thinks I can't.

Byte me someone!

Lets get to the root of it then.

These next lines are to you, Trooper

Yes I am talking to you!

You are Super.

I am going to prove it to everyone.

I shall show them why I know so!

I Promise to do the best that I can.

Watch me make a fool out of myself in order to try.

I really care.

Thank You for your service.

When I was a Trooper I did not think much of poems.

We cared about the Super Bowl!

(Certain other things too.

Wink wink!

Hey a nudge is as good as a wink to a blind guy!

There are lots of blind people among us.

You may know some of them

All I know is, Where I was blind I now see.)

Meanwhile back at the rant.

And a few beers at the PX or the Canteen!

Heck beer is beer!

We did not give a shit about where we drank it!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

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.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)