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With luck our dreams in time picture all
The heroes who have shaped our lives. My Dad,
The women who stand with the men, political
Pioneers who rally us. And I am glad
For all these mentors. None was taller though
Than my brother Bobby, fallen now
Like the giant oak in Vergil. Just so
He marches us still in drill somehow.
My poem sounds pretty Oedipal, and yet
I need to map it carefully with no regret.
Our lives conform to stories we are given.
My favorite ornery fabulist leaves time for heaven.