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The Great Satan, like the Great Soul,
renounced the flesh attending eyes;
like a true teddy, adored all
fauna and flora;
like a founding father,
sought expansion through the canon
of music and art;
like a thousand-year bridge builder
with a straight-edged back,
was a man of hope.

To hope is to wait, so the noble tongue;
but where others fasted and labored,
der Fuehrer's patience wore thin
long before any solution
could dry on a Wannsee canvas,
long before any closet Wagnerian
could commission a living room march.

Final eyes pore over the night. Light-
year tails of shooting star memories
arc from diabolical to divine, trace
the vigil of time and tongue, wait, wait.

      — Giovanni Francesco