A couple of blocks away the low, steady, metallic roar of a train of empty boxcars hurls into the dawn. The prelude sun is late; the symphony begun.

Now winds rouse; a storm comes from the west. Small drops of rain ping the windowpane. Again the sun is beat. Early winter would laugh if it could. I do.

In the drama of living there’s always something new and song springs to mind and lips and pen as paper wings turn inky black. I flap another on the stack.

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Gladness and Glory

Was time for the Fabulous Feast, it was,
When all of the hunters and farmers about
Brought in their turkeys, chickens and doves,
And the elk and the deer were cooking up fine.
There were beans and berries and beer and wine,
And the children played, and danced and ran,
And the men and the women, they danced, too,
Till they sat to eat and drink their brew.

Then Hrothgar stood, the head man, he,
And spoke of the glory of being free.
“We’ve built a town outside the state,
Where men are free to come and go,
To live their lives as they decree,
To speak their minds, say ‘Yes’ or ‘No’;
Where each man does his work his best
To profit him the most he can
And fear no gods of east or west.
For freedom is a precious thing;
We celebrate each man as king;
We celebrate queen woman, too,
And praise the work we’ve done
To make our dreams come true!
Now sing, who want to, speak who can,
Around the table, left to right,
And through your mouths the soul of man
Will rise in triumph, ring with might!”

Then songs and speeches filled the air
One after one, brave and fair.
Some spoke of toil hour on hour
Till a thing well done was in their power.
Others sang love songs and lullabies,
And one said a bull sold for very high price,
While ion between speeches and songs sung well
A chattering gladness did lift and swell.

Then up again stood Hrothgar to say,
“Our Fabulous Feast is almost through,
So one dear wish I warmly make.
On all the best in each one of you
May dawn with gladness and glory break.”
All then stood as the pipers piped
And hugged their friends and spoke and kissed,
Adjusted all their crowns of gold
And strolled away in the evening mist.

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Thinking of Robert LeChevalier

Who fights on to the very end
And does not pause, complain or bend,
But all his spirit sings a cheer
That he’s alive and he is here,
Wins every laurel, every prize,
While fated time-of-dying dies.
His quality of life is more
Than onward days that run before;
His high grade gold is his to mold,
And spending all he ne’er grows old.
His youth is his, as is his pride;
Stamped on his tombstone: UNDENIED!

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On The Death of Robert LeChevalier

For Robert LeChevalier,
His life was always his way,
Good science was his highway,
Accomplishment his aim.

With love-of-truth kept young so
His steps of joy, they sprung so
All beauty rang and sung, oh,
So loud with Robb’s dear name

That echoes now still vibrate
With his own will’s great mandate:
“My life and love are my date,
And time is my own flame!”

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Don’t Compromise (fight song)

Don’t compromise with evil,
Don’t compromise with goons;
Just make them strong believers
In their doom, doom, doom!

March up and on for freedom,
March up and on for work,
And don’t be giving anything
To any commie jerk!

Let nihilists have nothing,
Let democrats go fry;
They’ve got a date with destiny—
Their party’s gonna die!

Oh real American people,
You individuals true,
Send out your word, your rights make heard,
Of you, and you, and you!

Don’t compromise with evil,
Don’t compromise with goons;
Just make them strong believers
In their doom, doom, doom!

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Of Hrothgar the mighty
this tale I tell,
And the town of the damned
that he sent back to Hell.

He had hunted all year,
roaming far, roaming wide,
with naught but his spear,
and his knife at his side.

To the town of his kindred
he gave half of his meat,
but when he came home
there was nothing to eat.

They had gobbled it up
and lay sleeping around,
not a man was out hunting,
their wives, too, hugged the ground.

He shook them awake, saying,
“What do ye do?
Do you think I went hunting
only for you?”

“Go back to your spearing!”
they cried, “We are poor!
We’re tired with eating
and soon we’ll need more!

“You’ve a duty to serve us,
oh, you who are strong,
and make you a hero
to triumph in song!”

His black eyes a-glitter
now Hrothgar went out,
he rounded up bears
all around and about;

He drove them to town
where those lazy folk lay
and let them eat men
for the rest of the day!

Oh, Hrothgar the hunter
is a just man and true,
and when he’s out hunting
you’d better hunt, too.

And save him the best steaks
and wine that is choice,
and honor him rightly
with praise in your voice!

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My Life, My Will (Inspired by Brittany Maynard)

I’m terminally ill,
Yet while I live
By my free will
My life I’ll take
Before my voice
Hears not my choice
And on I live
A bound mistake.

To vegetate
Won’t be my state,—
A mindless thing
Without an “I”,
A bit of flesh
That cannot sing,
But only stare
With dull, blank eye.

I’ll terminate
The date of fate
And with my will
Be joyous still
Till my last breath
By my own hand
Is my live death at my command.

Don’t pity me
That my life’s short;
Don’t argue I
Must not abort.
Above all gods
Or social claim
My mind is mine,
My sacred flame,

And I’ll be I
Until I die,
A selfish height
Of mortal might
Whose large last act
Will be that act
That leaves no doubt
That I’m gone out.

My friends, be glad;
Oh Love, not sad;
Be proud of me
Who lived so free
That I could choose
To win my way
Of full alive
On my last day!

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