It's still miserably cold outside and raining now. Meanwhile, just to the north they have beautiful (terrible) snow. We missed it yet again. So, poetry! The problem: History can be and has been misread. We're just not that bright (we're brilliant). Well, what if it happens to us in the future? A good one thousand years perhaps? Longer? Pick any number I think.
He told me he was afraid; that when ages have passed
leaving you and I but dusted flakes on the wind,
in the ghostly valley where we once lived
some brave explorer shall find the toy; a doll his kid
used to play with outside in the dirt. the yellow clad
retractable action-clawed Wolverine,
And they shall marvel at the symbols of our terrible gods.
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