Cellar is featuring a photo of one of the famous Light Brigade cavalrymen before the doomed charge of October 25, 1854, which was immortalized in its glorious stupidity by Alfred Lord Tennyson. (The only other cultural legacy was the introduction of two new fashion-related words: "cardigan" and "balaclava.") There was also a Charge of the Heavy Brigade on the same day. This didn't turn out as badly for the individuals involved, but for Alfred Lord Tennyson it was a bit of an embarrassment -- because he tried to write a sequel:
The charge of the gallant three hundred, the Heavy Brigade! Down the hill, down the hill, thousands of Russians, Thousands of horsemen, drew to the valley–and stay’d; For Scarlett and Scarlett’s three hundred were riding by When the points of the Russian lances arose in the sky; And he call’d, ‘Left wheel into line!’ and they wheel’d and obey’d. Then he look’d at the host that had halted he knew not why, And he turn’d half round, and he bade his trumpeter sound To the charge, and he rode on ahead, as he waved his blade To the gallant three hundred whose glory will never die– ‘Follow,’ and up the hill, up the hill, up the hill, Follow’d the Heavy Brigade.
The pancreas is no place for rogue cells. They set up their machinery. They go everywhere. Efficient. And it's hospice and lillies in no time.
No time to think or react or hope. Just a kiss and a mugging and
he's gone. The center of her heart--which was exactly where it belonged
a month ago--is gone. Like he's out to get the milk.
The brain is an echo chamber for lost cells. The machine leaks oil
and throws its bearings. Inefficient. Sudden hospice and lillies a
Too much time to think, react, hope. Just kisses and huggings while
she's still here yet gone. The center of a son's heart is exactly where
it's belonged all along - but fades in tandem. Like she's out to get
the milk, but can't recall what it is or find her way home should she
If you have your own reflections to add, they are welcome in the comments.