L.B.J.

The liberal eulogizer is standing by, to tell us about tomorrow; he bleeds when it is expedient. The only cheerfulness uncorrupted by cynicism is today without a body. The blows it had sustained did nothing to its spirit. But where is the spirit now?

It has passed, across generations, over blunted acres, across the millet, making myths of toil and cooperation.  It has settled near some grand pré.  All that remains elsewhere is toil.

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