Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman (as channeled by RonMon)

In honor of the unavoidable catastrophe to befall the European side at this year’s Ryder Cup, I honor the champion USA side with the following rip-off, dedicated to USA Captain Paul Azinger. It is appropriate that the matches be played at Valhalla, for these neo-Norse gods will forever be enshrined in the halls of our memories. Without further adieu, I give you…

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! the Ryder Cup is done;
The team has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The cup is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow hands the steady stroke, the caddies grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red (white and blue),
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the strokes;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you th’announcer chokes;
For you birdies and eagled wreaths—for you the tees a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This visor ‘neath your head;
It is some dream that on the green,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The team is anchor’d safe and sound, its matches dormie-one;

From fearful round, the victor found, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful stride,
Walk the greens my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and died.