Some 240 odd years ago today,
In the East of the USA
There was
A failure of light
That led to night like conditions
By afternoon,
And even now
It remains unexplained
And is aptly named
After it’s fame
And isn’t that par
For the course.
Although it’s not always
Because of a loss of light
That memory’s embers
Are stoked
To invoke
A recollection,
For I know that only
Yesterday’s adventures
Will surrender
Their soliloquies
Unto the future’s
Dubious stage
When, try as I might,
I couldn’t stop his flood
From doubling
Every hour and
Drowning out
Every pair of trousers.
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