Tim Steele has been having awful technical problems. He writes long, elegant commentaries, then blink! they're gone just seconds before he hits the submit button. Of course just like yours truly, he lives in a small, benighted hamlet where he is connected to us by tin can and string. Now however he is going to follow the Duchess' advice to Mezey: write your deathless prose in a Word document, then cut and paste!
Timothy will rule as Lariat until next Friday. Then he will be off to rope other calves, and Robert Samuel Gwynn will swing into the saddle. I shall continue posting poems by Tim and introduce Sam to the Mastery Board during the next week. In fact, Sam's already there, and I'll welcome your comments on his "The Train for Ill."
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