At sixteen thousand six-nine-seven letters
I'd like to say the MOAB still grows better.
I'd like to sing the praises of her station --
The charm, the grace, the canny peroration.
That wiser grow, and wiser growing still,
Surmount all hurdles of the world and will.

I'd like to hymn her beauty and her grace --
The light she brings to every reader's face.
How fine, to praise the rhyhm and the temper
That makes each Son of Mom swear, "Semper!
Semper Fi! We pledge our souls to you!"
I'd like to write such paeans -- as would you!

But sadly, none of it is true.

Obi Whachu Wannabe, Syrius XI Planetary Laureate

Starview Publishining, Ether Editions Press
Glimmer City, 4345