Sure, and now he says it was a pool he was excavatin', him the force of Nature himself, spreading devastation in his wake, sure, and all them poor orphaned flowers weepin and carryin on, ochone, ochone, their pur old mithers and fathers crushed and broken, scattered along the crater's edge, the orphans takin' sips from the craythur's edge, and them with their whistles wetted then keenin high and low, and Father Rick lookin' out at the ragin' sea, and tryin' to be a comfort, and the waters roilin', and all because of Moby McDick, the Irish Leviathan, despoiler of innocents, could there be anythin' sadder, mother Mary sure, and now what does he say but it was construction, and the innocents lyin' shattered in the graves of destruction where they fell. Have you ever heard the like, Seamus?

yours, Peter T.