Out, damned curse!
To give, or not to give, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler for the earth to suffer
The slings and arrows of oil and gas fortune
Or to take arms against a sea that’s rising,
And by donating stem it: to spill, to leak
No more. And by a gift, to say you care
how Grist ties climate news to daily life,
— that we report with wit, not with despair.
To read, perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub,
For in that stream of words, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this toxic roil,
Must give us hope. Let me bare my bodkin:
Pray, if we hath lit a flame ‘neath thy butt,
Help Grist now with all the farthings thou canst!
Thus conscience does make donors of us all.
‘Tis a contribution devoutly to be wished.
Parting is such sweet sorrow,
In a previous life, I earned my keep
Reviewing plays. Long and rich were the hours
I spent list’ning to or writing about
The works of Shakespeare. I wasn’t that keen
To parody him in doggerel verse,
At first. But this curse is a cruel mistress.
Also, Grist must pay its bills. So why fret?
We’ll stop this once you fill our purse. Not yet!
P.P.S. Giving online make you a wreck? You’re also welcome to send a check: Grist, 710 Second Avenue, Suite 860, Seattle, WA 98104.
P.P.P.S. If we reach our goal by May 15, Grist will receive $25,000 from a generous donor.
Why all the iambic pentameter?
Grist is working under a strange parameter.