Remembered this poem and wanted to share with you.
My Brother was a Pilot
My brother was a pilot,
He received a card one day,
He packed his things in a suitcase
And southward took his way.
My brother is a conqueror,
Our people is short of space
And to gain more territory is
An ancient dream of the race.
The space that my brother conquered
Lies in the Guadarrama massif;
It's long a meter and eighty
and deep a meter and fifty.
Bertolt Brecht
For some reason I feel "..." at the end of the poem although it's not there.
It's so strong that it keeps talking.
Mark 8:36