Brave Mark, oh favored sage of hexametric, whine-dark ocean's gush;
quick-fingered Mark, dropper of names, mentioner of classic gods and bards,
whose every post decries the cretin's modern world and swirls to flush
men's faces with the throb of ancient poetry; I hurl the shards
of chaste and tetrametric sonnets at your epic feet this night,
and pledge to stand by beacon-fires even as we greet the light.
[This message has been edited by Michael Cantor (edited November 27, 2006).]
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