Professionals don't love,
They let the anchors choose,
From their fog-filled channels,
The late heartbreaking news.
But I want to show thee
In time, what time can't keep.
Let's make our haste slowly,
And unload it for cheap.
If only I had the sense to shave
Off this thick archaic rime,
We could set verses free by a grave
Like a pie for dinner time.
So let them tell Splendor she is done,
For I have seen a mountain eat the sun,
And have taken as a sacred task to replace
Their learned theories with human grace.
Nathan Woods, editor/overlord