The 113th Congress

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
When at last all but a few
Have given up fighting, when it's hard
That kodachrome light, falls on the yard
Reminds us that the day is not new
The only odds left are the long odds - yes
But aren't the pitched battles always the best?

And the sun is neither at our backs
Did we ask for the spears' to be in our face
Was this really the path we did embrace
Truth holds true all prediction lacks
They will take and take until no more
Is left to rob, and the hands are sore

From taking, eating each mans sustenance
While still hungering, hunger making him free
Free from the sin of gluttony
But envy hides paces behind his glance
And when his lids droop, full of hours
From the door it steals, and then devours.

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