Oh Abrams, My Abrams!

Today we got news that there is a good chance that our crew leader, hero, and local legend, Ross Abrams will be leaving housing after 28 years of service to the people here. The sadness in our hearts is so great that I can only modify a Walt Whitman poem to describe it. I have not the words to describe it, for me, the grief is still too near. O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of stink bombs,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Gone to maintanence.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve left us to go to maintainence.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are filled with potted meat;
My father does not feel my arm, he his eating the greens of beets;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain gone,
Gone to maintainence. ....I think we may have made a mistake leaving the Shire, Pip.