Combat Fatigue.

A meditiation on probably one of the toughest rowing races I ever took part in, along with a few other bits and pieces weighing on my mind at the time.

With the sun setting

On Saturday

And with

A body wearied,

Grew I tired of applauding

La Belle Dame

Sans Merci,

Her self-said changes

And blatant deductions;

So I cut with my

Fluid feelings

A blade of thirty-four

And at the end of it all,

I wore green.