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Forgive me if this is widely circulated, I got a kick out of it. Found in one of my grandfathers scrapbooks. They certainly loved the Standard, eh?
The Standard is my machine,
Oh, Uncle Sam, send me some other
It maketh me to land in strange places,
It shaketh my soul, it sideslips into air pockets,
It leadeth me into paths of ridicule for Hall-Scotts sake
It performeth strange actions in the presence of my students.
Any yea, though it cleareth the hanger, it landeth me in the lake beyond.
I fear great evil when the woods are beneath me,
Its vibration and squirks discomfort me
Its aileron and rudder discourage me.
It sprayeth my goggles with oil
It annointeth my face with hot water
Its tank runneth empty
Surely if I fly this bus four hours all the days of my life,
I will be decorated with a wooden kimona and interred forever.
Oh, God for any other.
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