47. Megan vs. the Dissertation

The whole point, the raison d'etre for our being here, if you will, is so that Megan can do research, at the source, for her dissertation about...well, that's her story to tell. But I have watched her deal with what has turned out to be a much more treacherous stretch of water than we had been led to believe.

She's a masterful captain, my dears. And lacking the ability to help her meaningfully, all I can do is write poems about her awesomeness.

The work is hard, but it doesn't always have to be in musty libraries.

My baby wages war on dissertation

and seeks to write its face into the dirt.

Her foe is fell; through hellish immolation

she stands yet firm, though sometimes she feels hurt.

Her wizard guide, he vowed-- but lied-- to aid her;

the doors he said he'd open failed to breach.

Perhaps not fair to say that he betrayed her

but mercy's not a sermon I will preach.

The territory claimed, she claimed alone:

before the darkness, mind and weapons bared.

Her blazing beams of light exposed the bone

and cut to where her diss's heart was laired.

I'm just her chanticleer; I sing her song

that to Fame's Hall all know her to belong.