Day 37. 133 pages, 60,943 words. Calling it a flatline until we get to a proper writing day again.
No more the marching masses
Rank on unending rank
The age of armies passes
As did those left in the bank.
We will no longer go to war
Our force no longer strengthens
Upon this dream we close the door
Even as the shadows lengthen.
For on this day, or on the morrow
Such hope no longer glimmers
It is with deep, abiding sorrow
I bid farewell to my swimmers.