The Voluspa is an ancient Norse creationist/apocalyptic poem, which seems an appropriate reference given the situation and even the name--Oden--which of course reminds one of the Norse god Odin, father of Thor. Herewith, my Voluspa for Greg. Hope you enjoy the culture infusion, like a good cup of Greek yogurt...
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From Naismith's sons both high and low
relate the tales of giants old
who gave bread in days of yore
One title known, and spoken fond
beneath mildew, mold and spore
'Tween fiery mountains of the sea
and mountains white with sleep
having burned out long before
The giants came to lay their claim
and break down glory's door
The writings speak of triumph
of forest laurels sharing green
with envied faces by the score
of Woltan's back and Captain Jack
but just one year, and nevermore
Then dark the skies became
and rain upon the land
from heavn'ly barrels pour'd
lesser sons prevailed amongst the gloom
churlish, preening scurvy boors
Indolence and indulgence ruled
the souls at aerie's height
fortune's sons as haughty lords
The laurels trampled; deaf to reason
were the trampling sons implored
Tales in this night, they did propound
of purple progress on the lake
and crashing shoals as heretofore
Despondently the elders braced
hoping still for glory's time restored
Then from the aged paths of time
rose a savior in the East
brimming references galore
a wrinkled brow, a loping gait
and mighty stance--like Woltan's Thor
The one called Oden had arrived
and spread the faith to all
of death to darkened times abhorred
and quaffs from victory's cup
the newest guest through fortune's door
The people cheered and wept and knelt
offered gifts of flesh and fame
shyly taken by the giant moor
and music rang, hosannahs sung
to mark the gathering rapport
But those most wise at telling tales
could not but caution into ears
the prior tragics gone before
Whispered "Bowie!" "MJ"
"Not to mention, Walt Gilmore!"
The people heard, but did not heed
and showed the tellers scorn
disregarding of their chore
but history's pages do not rend
as mighty Oden's knees grew sore
"No, it can't! It couldn't be!"
they moaned into their beers
from castles to the Bull and Boar
and holding hope but fearing worst
awaited word from the doc-tor
Of course the news, a cut unkind
sent shockwaves through the land
from the mountains to the shore
broke it once, then did it twice
and yet again as sadness's encore
The mood grew ugly, some drew wrath
and booing outsized visions of his face
did cast fair Oden to torpor
a castaway not passed away
not here not ever, somewhere else it isn't sure
In time the orange ball shall rise
clearing foggy mists remained
while hearts and minds sneak looks afore
but clinging fondly to the days
when mighty Oden owned the floor