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Poor Ducks I am very

Poor Ducks

I am very saddened by the Duck’s loss today, but I am happy that they were able to get this far. I’m reading a new book (The Collected Poems of WB Yeats) and David suggested I post a poem to show my appreciation of the accomplishments of the Ducks. Here it is:

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours? eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

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