He didn\u2019t mean to die,
\nand break his daddy\u2019s heart,
\nthat poor little Willy, but he did.
\nWe almost lost our Mr. Lincoln to grief.<\/p>\n
Only the kind spirits saw the danger,
\nknew what had to be done, and selflessly
\napplied limited etheric skills to pull the boy
\nfrom the clutches of schlerosis. To pull daddy
\nback from his shocked, catatonic state.<\/p>\n
The scene was chaotic, as one might expect
\nwhen a hodgepodge of circus clowns, comedians,
\nfathers and doting mothers in various states of decay
\nconfer on strategies best avoided by the living,
\nand as certain to confuse .<\/p>\n
But Mr. Lincoln was closer to joining them himself
\nthan any living person could see. He felt their pull,
\nand let them lead him back to his boy.
\nThe urgency of his love broke through to his son.<\/p>\n
Willy\u2019s spirit raised itself up just in time to be saved
\nfrom eternal misery. His spirit arose with a clap
\nof thunder to the afterlife, and Mr. Lincoln\u2019s spirit
\nwas yanked through the graveyard fence, away from the place.<\/p>\n
The spirits drifted back to their flamboyant displays and
\ncollegial mutterings, no emotion attached to the scene
\nthey had created. It had had to be done, and they did it.
\nA few of their number were rewarded.<\/p>\n
They ascended, to the bafflement of the others.
\nTo the bafflement of the readers.
\nTo understanding only of the brilliant writer who gave them life.
\nAnd one other, for whom the spirits of the bardo solved
\na long-standing literary problem.<\/p>\n
(I am uncomfortable posting this as a poem, but the hour is up and I have no time to revise now. Pretend it is poetry until I can make it so! :))<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" He didn\u2019t mean to die, and break his daddy\u2019s heart, that poor little Willy, but he did. We almost lost our Mr. Lincoln to grief. Only the kind spirits saw the danger, knew what had to be done, and selflessly applied limited etheric skills to…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1075,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[3021,156,3020],"class_list":["post-51561","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","tag-bardo","tag-hour-9","tag-lincoln"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51561","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1075"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=51561"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51561\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":52101,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/51561\/revisions\/52101"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=51561"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=51561"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=51561"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}