In lieu of (a) a post written last night while I was in a vile mood because of ............................. and (b) a snarky post aimed at bleggal overlords and their thumb-uppers and (c) .............................. and (d) a post written this morning while I am in a vile mood because of ........................ and (e) yes, I changed the poem and consequently the post's title because after the xth rereading I grew to dislike the first poem so (f) please have today's substitute for normal blog blueprint: sing along, you know the words, you know how these posts go.
I didn't realize United had a game last night until this morning. That hadn't happened in the 17+ years of DC United's existence. Fine metaphors abound and hmmm....
THE CONSENT
Howard Nemerov
Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
That stand along the walk drop all their leaves
In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind
But as though to time alone: the golden and green
Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday
Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.
What signal from the stars? What senses took it in?
What in those wooden motives so decided
To strike their leaves, to down their leaves,
Rebellion or surrender? and if this
Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt?
What use to learn the lessons taught by time.
If a star at any time may tell us: Now.
