Our squad assembles with solemn intent to peer into the Wilds’ eyes,
With thoughts of brooms, cleaning up; aye, b’sweep their state,
And while Boudreau looks troubled; and lets fly with mournful cries,
And Dubnyk, look upon thyself, and curse thy fate,
While Coyle, Koivu, Granlund and others sequester sundry hope,
Parise and Staal stagger through the motions like souls possess’d,
Desiring this team’s depth and Helle Boy’s scope,
With what PoMo enjoys – the contented beast;
Yet in these thoughts, I see 2018 as a mammoth uprising,
Haply I think on thee, HF Jets, and then my state,
Like to the puck at bar-down from Pate’s shot arising
From sullen Lurch, his game sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For the 4th line’s sweet goals remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.