Margaret’s Song

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  There was a king in Thule,  True even to the grave;  To whom his dying mistress  A golden beaker gave.  At every feast he drained it,  Naught was to him so dear,  And often as he drained it,  Gush’d from his eyes the tear.  When death came, unrepining  His cities o’er he told;  All to his heir resigning,  Except his cup of gold.  With many a knightly vassal  At a royal feast sat he,  In yon proud hall ancestral,  In his castle o’er the sea.  Up stood the jovial monarch,  And quaff’d his last life’s glow,  Then hurled the hallow’d goblet  Into the flood below.  He saw it splashing, drinking,  And plunging in the sea;  His eyes meanwhile were sinking,  And never again drank he. “Margaret’s Song” by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) in “Faust. Part I.”

30 Uses For A Tin Can: Day 10 "Cup"

Once upon a time, a young youth leader whose name rhymes with "Derek" forgot many essential camping supplies . . . like cups
and plates
and utensils
and pots and pans . . .
Oh, we had plenty of food . . .
Just no way to cook with
or eat . . .
or start a fire, which got started anyway thanks to a cigarette lighter and some pine straw . . .

Guess you had to be there.
Folks do get thirsty.

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