The Boston basketball team was eliminated today. The Finals are set, and the Celtics were just too inconsistent to be a part. We end their run and quench their flame with the final NBA playoffs poem.
Wince When Winds
Your time has come but not in earnest
Fast glass, it breaks and makes you into
Yours was the coal and theirs the furnace
You wince when winds prevail against you
In the waning hours of the battle
Men still end, their pain in vain
Too late to pray, too soon to praddle
You wince when winds uproot the grain
Our past, a whetstone for tomorrow
Blades in spades, known now to fold
An axe to brandish, a knife to borrow
You wince when winds can’t be controlled
Fancy Boys Club 