Telegraph office, Skagit Valley, Washington

O hear the Skagit River rushing
Along its route – O signal sign
Of static change! So taps the Russian 
To telegraph an English line:
“The century’s half our poet Pushkin
Is dead – Seattle, Washington’s been
Destroyed.” Upriver, Burlington,
We log the grief that’s dashing on
With dotted lines: the honored stresses
And breaths that gave Eugene
Onegin tongue to paint the scene,
In English translation, addresses
The ever-burning verities
That manifest our destinies.


  1. I didn’t see Potter’s prologue until well after I’d begun my own – but I figure if we’re going epic it might be handy to have an invocation as well.


  2. Angelico Nguyen, Esq., OP says

    Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not polite to play with your words?

    They didn’t? What is it we’re not supposed to play with, then? Our food?

    Anyway, that picture is quite a find.

  3. Thanks for mentioning the Skagit.

    Great poem.

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