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I could go on and on about how this is the first day of a journey that will last two lifetimes and more. But I'd rather turn the blog over to Grantland Rice:
...Across the field of play
the dusk has come, the hour is late.
The fight is done and lost or won,
the player files out through the gate.
The tumult dies, the cheer is hushed,
the stands are bare, the park is still.
But through the night there shines the light
of home beyond the silent hill.
1 comment:
You did it again, Chief. Literally waves of chillbumps even as I type this. Lovely poem for a lovely poet.
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