O Captain! My Captain!


“Make it so.” The captain said,

As light bounced off his shiny head.

He crossed his legs and ate French bread,

And pulled down on his shirt of red.


A vinter’s son from Eastern France,

Enormous nose and stoic stance,

His velvet voice sure to entrance,

He’ll quote Shakespeare and ballroom dance.


A master of diplomacy,

His hobby archaeology,

Both Enterprises D and E,

Respond to his authority.


His savoir-faire cannot be beat,

Commands the Flagship of the fleet,

First contact he would oft’ complete,

A twenty-seven species feat.


He played the flute in “Inner Light”,

Stabbed through the heart in a barroom fight.

He persevered through all despite,

His Borg assimilation blight.


The Federation’s greatest pride,

The finest crewmen at his side,

With he, I’ve loved and laughed and cried,

This astral trek’s beloved guide.


Explorer’s heart and poet’s soul,

Engaging, wise and in control.


You always know what’s in his pot.


Earl Grey.



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