I’m just a guy, doing this again.
I’m tired. Broadly and acutely, after this long hibernation and a short night’s sleep. Let’s let Emily Dickinson write #50 for us:
My nosegays are for Captives –
Dim – long expectant eyes,
Fingers denied the plucking,
Patient till Paradise.
To such, if they should whisper
Of morning and the moor,
They bear no other errand,
And I, no other prayer.
—Sometimes tomorrow, Comrade Citizen—