[Regarding] The Swift Boating of Cindy Sheehan ... meet with folks out in the heartland and hear what's on their minds.

I like the friendliness and the folks you meet.

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were lovesick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.

Learn of the little nautilus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale.

Like watermen who look astern while they row the boat ahead.

Gracefully, gracefully glides our bark On the bosom of Father Thames, And before her bows the wavelets dark Break into a thousand gems.