O FIFTEEN! my Fifteen! you bring me such DX;
You open up to such far lands, I love you more than sex;
The band is clear, new ones I hear, the ops are all exulting,
While hands do turn the dial so slow, so fast rare mults are coming:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the sunspots all have fled,
In minimum my Fifteen lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Fifteen! my Fifteen! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up — for you the beam is strung — for you the morse code trills;
For you big amps and matchèd stacks — for you the bands a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, so eagerly dials turning;
Here Fifteen! DX queen!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that thanks to Sol,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.


My Fifteen does not answer, his depths are lone and still;
We search the Hertz with faces wan, he has no pulse nor will;
Three delta loops perch on the tower, the gamma matching done;
We watch the cluster spots with tears, as top banders have fun;
Exult, phone ops on seven-five!
But I, with mournful tread,
Turn on the rig - but Fifteen lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

24 January 2006