Oh, Mom, the hour is growing late, and the sun is sinking low.
And all the kids seem to be gone, with something else to do.
The day's gone by, the evenings wanes, the sun gives up its ghost.
And only I, it seems, have thought to come around and post.

What is it drives the ebb and flow of folks from day to day?
Why do sometimes they post in droves, and sometimes stay away?
When Little Hawk and Mario, and Still and Rapaire
Are just too busy doing all the things they do "out there"?

The answer is not plain to see, perhaps we'll never know.
But I cannnot stand back and watch you slowly sinking low.
So here's a toast, and here's a post, and may the night bring more!
As long as you can keep afloat, and stay up off the floor,

We'll keep on thinking something up, to keep you on your path,
ANd maybe it will make you scream, or burp, or pee, or laugh.
It doesn;t really matter if it makes you mad as hell,
As long as someone adds a slice, to ring the numbers bell.
And keep our MOAB well.

Llewellyn Termagenant Sodd
Obstreperous and Noxious When Wet
Santa Fe, 1958