Shipmates are starting to die off and the boats we sailed to disappear. “At my back I always hear Time’s winged chariot hurrying near”. We need a group Memoriam:















There is a port of no return, where ships
May ride at anchor for a little space
And then, some starless night, the cable slips,
Leaving an eddy at the mooring place.
Gulls, veer no longer. Sailor, rest your oar.
No tangled wreckage will be washed ashore.


Lost Harbor
by Leslie Nelson Jennings



Standing while in public for the flag while the national anthem is playing — does not seem like much to ask in memory of our honored dead. Now, even this is too much to ask of spoiled Americans. Oh well. ‘”But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground.The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract.” Rest your oars, rest in peace.