 If we have any poets that are sitting out in the audience, we'd like to invite you to come up to this front section where the poets are sitting in order as they appear in the anthology. So all the poets up to the front, please come and sit with me. We're so delighted that you're here with us today. Thank you so much. Let me begin by introducing Ramero Salazar, who's the director of the San Antonio Public Library. Thank you Vicki. Good afternoon to everyone. On behalf of the Library Board of Trustees and the staff of the San Antonio Public Library, I would like to extend to all of you a very warm welcome to this very special ceremony and event. Today we will hear from local children and teen poets whose works were chosen to be published in the 92nd edition of the Young Pegasus Anthology. Joining us today is Paul Stahl, who's chair of the San Antonio Public Library Board of Trustees and here he is to my left. He will be participating in today's program. I would also like to thank the Board's immediate past chair, Jean Brady, for her championship of this program through the years. Jean not only supported the program by attending the events but also financially, so we're indebted to Jean's support and embracing this wonderful program. I would also like to recognize and thank the San Antonio Public Library Foundation, who has also supported this program through contributions. And of course I would like to recognize and welcome our talented 2018 Young Pegasus judges. They read and carefully considered over 2,200 points for this year's anthology. Vicki will acknowledge him later but I wanted to thank the judges for your hard work. I know it's quite an effort and to choose points and all of them are wonderful so thank you so much for your support. And I also want to at this time not only acknowledge the parents but also to thank you for the support that you provide to your children. It is your guidance and your support that allow your children to explore new endeavors and consider creative writing. So without your support their participation and their willingness to go forward in submitting points would not be possible. So a special thanks to all the parents that are here. I know that our staff has enjoyed working with the judges and the judging panel again will be introduced but I would like to recognize two key individuals. Vicki Ashe who is the coordinator for children's services and Jennifer Velasquez who's the coordinator for the team services. There are the two leads. So thank you. And there's Jennifer coming up just to thank you Jennifer. And of course to all the other members of the library staff our children's librarians who also play a very important role in the services that we provide. I'm a big champion for our children's services and our staff that deliver children's services. So those that are here thank you also for supporting this program behind the scenes. I'm looking to see if there are any other board members. Board members. There's Marcy Ns. Welcome Marcy. Thank you so much for getting here representing District 9. Any other. It's hard to see the spotlight. But I would like to recognize all members of the board but those that are here thank you so much for making time. This is a wonderful program. It's one that I have embraced and have felt much pride for this particular program because it engages again children to express themselves creatively. Some of you may not know that I was here in the 1980s and then I left and I went to the Dallas Public Library and so this program was so important that I modeled as director of the Dallas Public Library program that's very similar. It's called Express Yourselves but it was modeled after this program. This is how much I value this particular program and again we offer many programs throughout the library system. Each of the young boards published in this anthology is helping to shape the city's future. They're creating a greater appreciation and understanding of poetry, enhancing the city's literary heritage and preserving and expressing our local culture. We have been celebrating our young poets since 1927. We are grateful for their participation and applaud them for their efforts and talent. At this time I would like to invite Vicki Ash, coordinator of children's services and Jennifer Velazquez who will take over from here. Jennifer, Vicki. We really are proud of the Young Pegasus Poetry Competition. As Romero mentioned we've been doing it since 1927 and in the library archives and actually in the San Antonio City Archives there are copies of all of those anthologies all the way back except for one year. When we think it wasn't actually published although there was a competition but it was a paper shortage during the war so we don't we don't have a copy of that year but we certainly have a copy of this year and we have some beautiful young poets up here in front of us but before we get to them we'd like to introduce you to the judges. They're sitting right there on the first tier so when I read about you if you wouldn't mind standing up just give it a little way they'd be very friendly. Erica De La Rosa is an educator, performer, director and activist. She returned to San Antonio after 12 years of living her dream in New York City. She is the creator of the Puentes Young Artist Residency Program, a unique program that provides local youth with the opportunity to study, work, create and experience life for one month in New York City as a working artist. Erica is not with us today but she did a great job and I hope you'll give her a little round of applause. Anthony, the poet Flores, is here. He's a well-known poetic voice in San Antonio, renowned for his love of the San Antonio spurs and tacos. He has penned and performed tributes to huevos rancheros and of course Manu Ginobli. The San Antonio current recently named Anthony a San Antonio poet who should be on your radar. Most importantly however one of his pieces was selected for publication in the Young Pegasus Anthology in 1985. Thank you, Anthony. Fernando Esteban Flores is a native son of Tejas and a graduate of the University of Texas at Austin. A retired middle school teacher, Fernando was recently selected to work with San Antonio's first poet laureate, Carmen Tefoya, in Gemini Inc.'s mentorship program. Like fellow Judge Anthony Flores, Fernando was also recognized by the San Antonio current as a San Antonio poet who should be on your radar. Fernando was also invited to join the Chicano Fine Arts Museum as their resident poet. Thank you, Fernando. Jane Faulk-Hanson teaches English, Literature and Literary Criticism at San Antonio College where she's also the director of the Writing Center. A teaching consultant with the San Antonio Writing Project, Jane also sponsors a youth writing workshop during the summer. Thank you, Jane. Esperanza Garza-Dan Weber is not with us today but she began her work exploring literature early in life by sneaking a flashlight under the covers and reading after bedtime. Do we have any volunteers? Anybody else did that? Okay. She continued her vocation at the San Antonio Infinite School District as an English and Social Studies teacher before becoming the proud school librarian at Jefferson High School. And it's in the neighborhood where she grew up. She declares herself a teacher, organizer, advocate, facilitator, collaborator, reader, writer and learner. In other words, she's a foot soldier in the war against illiteracy and ignorance. And thank you, Esperanza. Finally, our sixth judge this year, James Rossignol. James teaches at San Antonio College as well. His classes range from English as a second language to a science fiction survey course and creative writing. When James was in sixth grade, his teacher made the class create a poetry notebook and James still has those poems in a folder with a hand drawn pegasus on the front. Thank you, James. I'll tell you that they do read a lot of poems but they also have a lot of fun and we enjoy reading your poems so much we spend hours and hours doing it. So it's time for the poets. So let me give you a little hint so we know what's going to happen. If there are any poets still sitting out in the audience, you need to come down to the front with us. There should be a chair with your name on it. Okay, I think everybody's up front. All right. So what's going to happen is we're going to come up in order of that the appear in the book. Up you go, the first row and come right over here with a melda. Second row, just stay right where you are. Up and over. You got it. There you go. Now we invite the poets to read their poems themselves, but if they feel a little nervous, we don't mind helping out. And I think Luciana is the first person Luciana. Can you come up? This is Luciana goats stand right there. Do you want to read it yourself? We're doing me to Luciana's poem is my name. One of my nicknames actually is Spanish for something light. It makes me think of light shining in my hair and it's not hot lose. Okay, and this is Navid. Oh, wait, let me say it right. Navidita soma sundaram close right? I'm going to apologize ahead of time for everybody's name. I say wrong. Are you going to read yours yourself? Yes. Okay, let's move the stool back over here where you can be with the microphone. We're good. It's calling. Rain is falling. The plants are very glad. It's so much fun to the apartment. So rain is not really bad. Good job. And this is Liliana Cordona. Red stripes match your flames. Your strongest dare a little kid in your awesome fireball attacks. You are the greatest, cutest, various little fire cat. And this is Fiona Briggs, Sydney Annette, Sally McFleece just would not brush her teeth. Her toothbrush was new, but still not a touch. Sydney did not care that much. After the fifth week, her teeth turned black. Her parents gave the toothbrush back. The sixth week came and her gums were green. They were the ugliest gums you've ever seen. Her parents screamed. They cried the word and they called the dentist and up the stairs he hurried. They heard a scream, a crash, a bang, and down the stairs the dentist came. Seventh week came and her teeth were worse. Nothing cured them, nothing good. Her teeth had lizards here and there. Lizards, lizards everywhere. Her father fainted, her mother too. If you saw lizards, wouldn't you? They called the nurses. Then they came. Nothing would ever be the same. The bread they gave her was very stale. And when she cried, it started to hail. Until one of her teeth fell out, then another, then another, then another, then another, until one tooth remained. It was worse than that. And that's why every child remembers Sydney and at Sally McFleece and always, always brushes their teeth. And this is Jocelyn Crowley. There you go. Oh, you don't? Okay, well, I'll read it for you. No, just stand up here so we can see you. All right, here we go. This is called poems by Jocelyn Crowley. Poems aren't nice to me. They make me tongue tied like my lifeline and my hips wind like a music box. Beware, beware, if you like them, you're rare. I'm not rare. I don't care. And this is Ruben Frey. Oh, I'm sorry, it's Ruben Frey. In the land I was born, I was an outlaw. I was a lone fox and then a dead. I had to dig out the home of my own paws and I had no room for a friend. In the land I was born, I was an outlaw. I broke girls all over again. I ran like a lone dog, but I never came back there again. Good job. And this is Adrian Lee. I think they're getting kind of tall now. Adrian, you think you can do it without a stool? Are you think you need it? Okay. I went to the beach and saw a big scary crab. He snapped me with claws and it hurt it bad. I got mad and moved, but he followed me and snapped me again. He was being me and that's how the crap ruined my vacation. This is not Nathan. This is Antonio. Antonio Trevisio. I bet I said it wrong, didn't I? You say it again, okay? My poem is called iPad. Sometimes I quietly wait for my boy's endless banishment to end. He can't resist me. I'm a screen. I'm digital. Sometimes I wish he was the touchscreen. And I'm glad I'm not a real Apple. And this is Sebastian Bishop. We've got a picture of it here. I'll hold this while you read, okay? My dog Zoe is a pirate. She sits for treasure in our backyard, wearing her eyepatch and bandana. She is a swashbuckling rogue. The squirrels and birds scamper when they spot her. She is a true sea dog in a field of grass. Great. Okay. Here comes our second row. Everybody on the second row. Come on. There you go. Perfect. And this is Bernabé Esquivel. These witches and costumes, skeletons, spiders and animals, poppies, cupcakes, and gummies of animals and magic. Can you read it in Spanish, too? Dulces, brujas y disfraces, esqueletos, arañas y animales, peditos, pastelitos y gomas de animales y gatitos de magia. Beautiful. And this is Blackstone Loring. Do you want me to pull it out? Yeah. Sure. Right there. Scissors. I wonder if scissors ever talk to the people, to the paper that they cut, then are gripped by invisible hands and say goodbye as they lose control and open their mouths. Snip, snip, snip. And this is Kathleen Paulie. America. Here we are, right here, not going anywhere. America. We have freedom. We have our rights. We're staying right here, where we are. We're staying right where we are in America. Good job. And this is Sarah Robinson. Of the universe, the end of time, the finish of converse, and at the end of a chime, where am I? And what are you? The letter E. Good job. And Christian Banda is not here. So, this is Rashmi Rana Basu. Will the darkness please tell me what happened to the moonlight? Will the silence gently murmur where the sweet tunes hide tonight? Roving spirits, I pray you tell why did the wind stop blowing? My reddish and hard please proclaim why did the rapture stop flowing? Questions emanate from my heart. They flow like a rushing stream. The answer is evasive, as always, like my most cherished and elusive dream. Beautiful. Sorry. She has two poems and she's going to read them both. Cancendence. When my thoughts are reckless, my emotions in a fleeting spree deep inside my mind I delve. And effortlessly I see, like the waves play full children, dissolving to mother's theme, my brain rests, my mind vanishes, and my soul merges into infinity. Good job. Ian Garza? Fast food. Delicious and great is fast food. It puts you in such a good mood. With drive-thrus, get it on the run, eat too much, way a ton. Some not clean foods, some just have gnats, some give out toys, some give out cool hats, loads go, I've even seen a nun, eat too much, way a ton. Patty, lettuce, mustard pickles, burger with ketchup that trickles, wait, I forgot the bun, eat too much, way a ton. McDonald's and Burger King, Yum, Water Burger in and out, fun, steak and shake, Freddy's, get one, eat too much in your way a ton. This is not Adelaide. Wait just a second, we're in the wrong way, I've messed up just a little bit. Okay, we're on page 20, and this is Aravgadala. Happiness is a leaf drifting through the air, never touching the ground. Happiness is a dandelion, dancing in the breeze, it's little wisps flying away. Sadness is a flower, blue and wilting, burning away, forgotten. Sadness is an empty thought, nothing filling it, slowly, slowly fading. Anger bubbles like a geyser hidden inside us, choosing the right time to elapse. Flapped inside us, flying to escape, going into the deepest parts of your body, taking control. Disgust doesn't care, she's so obsessed, never helping, never kind, always laughing at people's mistakes. Fear is like a barrier, not letting you get across. Fear is like a monster, rubbing at you, trying to pull you down. Good job. This is, this is Adelaide. Adelaide Criedale. Christmas lights for the full, for the cool full nights when owls take swooping flights. Late at night the cricket sound while droplets of dew form on the ground. The lemony scent of evergreen, the little pine branches so toky and lean. Bright glistening stars and maybe even Mars in the pine woods in Wemberley, Texas. And this is Seth Borsley. No one has respect for the tree that gives sour fruit, it is bitter and old. Thank you. That's okay, come ahead. I feel a little confused. I think I've got, I've, something's going wrong with my pages. This is Rowan Norris. Okay, I'm good. Here we go. Spanish spelling be gloom. I'm stuck in the muck with Spanish spelling be gloom. I've got the jumbled letter blues and academic bruise. First filled with excitement and then the nerves kicked in, but still kept a grin. First round check, second round good. Then it hit me like a hurricane would. Got out on the word Tosco, spelled it with a Z, such a disappointment, but then it hit me. I have the rest of my life for spelling mastery. Good job. Daniel Abney? I think y'all are getting pretty tall now. Mr. Skelly had no meat. He was bare to the bone. Count Dracula liked to speak in a Transylvanian tone. Frankenstein's monster shook the earth wherever he walked. The mummy's voice sounded raspy whenever he talked. The headless horseman could never think straight. The only way to get old messy out of the pool was to use fish's bait. The werewolf, as my pickers call him, had a lot of hair. He always wanted to see Dr. Griffin, but he was never there. I'll let you win on a secret, but you mustn't tell or else you just might go down a well because the scariest things that you might not see is that all these monsters are teachers to me. And I don't believe Silas Bartlett is here, and this is Brenna Calhoun. No, it's not Brenna Calhoun. It's Angela Cohen. Okay, you stand right behind me all right. This is Son of the Sea by Angela Cohen. Three figures must go where liquid is supposed to flow. The place you go will be rather stinky and dank. It might feel like you're in a claustrophobic and dirty tank. You must remove what's in its way to be able to save the day. There is a purpose for this quest. It will put your skills to the test. There is a thing you must say, but beware that will be a treacherous wave. This might sound awfully terrible and that is true, but it's very important and we are relying on you. Don't worry. There is a prize at the end. Everything will easily flow again. Everyone is worrying so you really should be hurrying. Please finish this task fast so everyone will be better at last. Again, I say we are counting on you because everything is starting to stink here too. Evan, help me say your last name. Hamaoka. Evan Hamaoka. Alien invasion. The massive shadow crosses the sun. Crowds panic, screams ring out. Their spaceship descends, their hatch slowly opening, but we know they do not come in peace. We have heard of them, read legends of them. It is said the only thing in their hearts is evil. It is said they murder without caring. It is said they have destroyed their planet and are taking over a new one, but we never thought they would come. It is said they're the most dangerous creatures in the universe. Some call them the world invaders. Some call them killers, but we call them a different name. Crowds are now running, waving tentacles. They're humans. And this is Julia Landis. He's curled in a ball to escape the cold air. His tail ticked around. The wind blows his hair. Rising and falling, he breezes the cheese. His ear twitches twice as he feels the syrup breeze. His heart is all warm and he's dreaming of fun, of chasing and roping and bathing in sun. He lies on mom's chair and I know she's not pleased, but I know she does love him and won't let him freeze. He's curled up so tight, he's laid there so long. He might be an eternal, but I think I am wrong. The march is now awake with me standing here, so I bid him goodbye. Sweet dreams, my dear. This is Bella Noriega. Heikus. Heikus, five seven five. Japanese, three unwritten lines. Five seven five, three lines. Thank you. And Charlie Weiner. Or is it Charlie Weiner? Okay, you want me, let's get you the stool so they can see you better. The volcano. See, the volcano. Sejo poem. It is said to be impossible to conquer the fire mountain. It sits alone in the quiet sound by the turning lava stream. And if someone challenges its summit, the volcano shakes. Very nice. Thank you. This is Hazel's spitting. Siva Joshi is not here, so we'll skip on to Hazel. We're on page 33. I think our microphone is, is it still working? Okay, let me hang on just a second. I wonder, we want to be able to hear you. Come stand by me. Give me moral support. Mark, the light is red. Does that mean anything? Okay, all right. I think you're nice and tall. A few words, is it working? I think it's kind of going in and out. Okay, try again. A few words about hope. Because life is not always right. Sometimes you just want to want to look up to the cold, unforgiving sky and scream. Because sometimes everything is not a picture perfect blue. Sometimes it is an angry red or a fiery orange or a despairing black. Because we are all, it's a tricky one. Jen's going to go see if she can help us. But you keep going, all right? Because we are not flawless spheres of unbroken glass. We are murky, cracked, and perfect. And that's okay. Just keep going. And that's okay. Scream at the stars, see only red. Feel like you are on the brink of shattering. You are not alone. Before the light was green and now it's red, which makes me sort of think, alert, alert. But let's see. Hazel, I'm sorry that the mic went in and out during your reading. And it looks like it's going to keep doing that. Jennifer is Mark coming to help us. We have a technician here who maybe can save the day. You decide. What do you want to do? She's good. Okay. All right. So I think this is Arya Walker? No. Shreya Chudhuri? Now I apologize if I said it wrong. Is that it? Okay. If winter's breath kisses that perfect lip, or summer's rays scratches thy gorgeous skin, if winter pulls thy cloak and nips and nips, or summer shines a rock hole in the sins, thou shalt whisper my love's words calm and fair, soft, wilt thy hand not ingrained in mine, thou shalt speak, thou shalt but speak from lover's creed beware, and once again my love shall become thine. I shall hold thine fine face inside my hand, and know that it shall always be for me. I love thee once again, ten times regret, and forget those lost days of loving thee. Yet, as I sob to say it's time to part, remember my lost love and thy lost heart. And you know that was our first poem by a teenager. That was a 13-year-old and it's really my turn to let Jennifer take over. Michael Kressbach with Whataburger. I'm from Whataburger. From Whataburger and Whataburger. I am from the house right next to Whataburger, where I get a lot of Whataburgers. I smelled, I'm sorry it smelled like Whataburger. I am from the cow that ended up being a Whataburger. The lettuce of a Whataburger, and the Whataburger itself. I am from the go to Whataburger, and I want Whataburger from Jonathan Benjamin and Whataburger. I'm from the craving of Whataburger and ordering Whataburger from, you like Whataburger. And Whataburger is good from the star of David, the Torah, and Whataburger. I am from the hospital right next to Whataburger. From Whataburgers and double meat Whataburgers. I'm from my brother breaking his arm and going to Whataburger afterward, and the dad who loves Whataburger. I am from the orange and white stripes, a.k.a. Whataburger. Is this Shannon? Shannon Langus with Never Too Young. Never Too Young. You call me stupid, a dreamer, a fool. I'm too young to think I should stay in school. You call me naive, say I'm young, that I'm weak. Wisdom comes when your bones start to creak. Will I say you're wrong, that I'll break the mold? Why does it matter if you're young or you're old? Yeah, I'm a dreamer, and I may be a fool, but I can change the world while I'm still in school. I'm sorry, Ethan? No. Sierra and Hollis with Looking Through a Marvel. Flipped, focused, warped. Their complex minds forever trapped in solid water. Stopped in motion, forever moving, forever still. Blindly rushing to get nowhere. Ice stuck shut. Oblivious to the complex beauty outside of the world outside their glass cages. Andres de la Garza. A barrage begins. Characters typed viciously. Our president tweets. Caitlin Fleming. I'm sorry? Oh, I'm sorry. Leah Forrest. I should have remembered you the other day. I find you slouched on the second to last stare. Long legs sticking out. Your body forming one giant comma. Wondering why you're all odd edges. Fragments sticking out. Catching on everything that passes. Trailing behind gathered dust and trash and bodies and bodies. Reach out with your long reaching arms. Push me away. I don't want to drag you along, but I know what you're saying. Bodies are heavy with hearts and promises, and I'm only a body. And I sit down next to yours. We click together like awkward puzzle pieces, just barely making a hole. Wiley Martinez. I look at the poem with 14 lines. What should I say? No one would care. Doesn't matter, I'm aware. My motivation would be lost, and I could act like Robert Frost and wonder who owns what and why. To ask which path would cause, should I choose to walk along in here unhappiness to disappear? If I did have motivation or some kind of inspiration, I'm sure I could write quite freely instead of a so uneasily. But I'm stuck with what I've written. Seven rhymes, sans disposition. Liana Hall. And at night I cry, alone in my bed. You burst through the door, and when you left, my face, my face, my face was swollen. Hair all over the place, like your hands on my body, wrists redder than blood. The blood left on the tips of your nails. I have stopped crying out of fear that you'll return. But I know no matter how silent I stay, how perfect I try to be, how kind and sweet I treat you, you will return. And I anticipate it until my insides cave in, and my soul falls into a bottomless pit. There is the waiting game you like to play. I have yet to win. Jackie Publubsk. Jackie Publubsk in. Broken. One day she promised herself, as she, all too small, hid in the corner away from him, all too big. Athena Sanchez. Keep watching. The TV's light bounces off her face. Her fingers tightly clutch the remote. Images flicker and disappear without a trace, but she keeps watching. She keeps watching because outside of the silver screen are the shouts and screams, but beyond the flickering images lies the ever-cruel reality. So she keeps watching. As long as she doesn't look away, the world can never hurt her. From this TV, nothing can lead her astray, for as long as she watches, she is safe. Even if the sky falls and the earth crumbles, so long as she doesn't press pause, she will not hear the evil man's grumbles. She will not be hurt by the witch's claws, so long as she keeps watching. Devin Garza. A letter to my little brother. Life's going to be tough. I have this knowledge. Locked up dad and absent-minded mother. I know that once I go off to college that you would have lost more than one brother. I'm sorry I failed to end the drama, failed to teach you how to pick up a game, different from how dad hits on mama. For all of my failures I take the blame. No, this is not your fate. You get to choose. Just don't think you're stuck. You can always move. I get that you may have nothing to lose, but you do have everything to prove. Stay out of trouble and in school do well. I'm tired of sending letters to Jim. Alivia Kane. Thoughts from a believer. I began questioning God on a Tuesday and third grade as we cut thick black brown planarian in half with a scalpel that made my fingers twitch. It doesn't feel pain, but I wonder if it's screamed. My mother shakes and closes her eyes, palms up with strings of tension, running the length of her arms. A heavy breath dropped from her rage, from her lips, streaming through engorded veins. Tears lace her wet eyelashes like a net and she looks up. We stand in church beside my father and I reach out to touch her to see if she is real. I stare at the list the college board offers her religious belief. Maybe I'm a spiritualist, an aesthetic Catholic, a Santiago without the thick Spanish accent, but my trachea encloses holes burned from brimstone and I swallow checking undecided instead. Heaven seems too sterile for a woman like my mother. Valhalla with its dark evergreens and glowing cinders more fit for such a fighter. The man tells me through thick glasses clouding his corneas that religion stimulates the same part of the brain that drugs and sex and music do. I don't argue, I don't agree. She cries with little girl tears, shouting to the I am that lives in our attic. Yellowed with age, her eyes search the cracks in the ceiling for answers as I place a pillow over my head and scream blocking her out. God is too tired to create a burning bush for my mother. One hot night I have a dream about the land of the Israelites. Cascading dunes of fossilized finger bones folded in prayer, trees relinquishing leaves of brittle parchment to a sleepy wind heaving from countless tired lungs. The Holy Spirit, a large gray duck sitting atop a throne pretending to be a dove. My little sister lays on a dirty blanket and wonders what life will be like when we die. I ask if she remembers the time before she was born as if the question is the answer and our eyes well in unison. To whatever God there is you saved my mother from a hell that burned in between her ears. I'm not sure if I should thank you. I reach out to pull a single white thread from the infamous veil in front of my face and it unravels completely and from across the lake we stare watching our heavy ashes sink to the bottom and I dare you to say that there is something bigger than us. And this is our last vote. A government's world. Once upon a time there was colonization with large farms called plantations and polluting factories of industrialization and we all look back at its corrupt duration. Soon comes along major taxation only to cause war inflation and frustration for this country needs a good filtration before the formation of more predation. More years pass and they land in temptation but one for a cancellation of a declaration translation. It's a declaration of calculation only to result in long term deprivation. Now the leaders have full domination depleting the people's last hope of salvation only to further result in greater war depression and starvation thus manifesting the government's horrible mutation. Then 50 years in political rotation the people grab hold of exploitation to expose the fluctuation in the fabrication of America's Federation just like an old union nation using a snake plant for economic asphyxiation. And finally we the people receive an invitation to an infestation of legislation and miscreation until this day we hold creation and innovation but this course may lead to fallout and radiation. On that day there will be a realization of recreation with termination of validation no vaccination no toleration for the upcoming abomination and the leaders will receive their authentication of their own extermination. Even after this don't believe me and deliver the leader standing ovation or believe me and take my words into consideration because I believe poetry does not have to be only thoughts and imagination but a device to give the blinded their insightful information. Friends thank you and one more round of applause for these fantastic. Some of all the poets stand and turn around and look at your family so they can see your pretty faces. Stand up turn around give them away. I'd like to thank now cast essay for live streaming this event and if you'd like to relive it again there was a card on your seat that has the URL that will take you to the recording. I think this person's about ready for some time. Absolutely. Before before we stand up and have some refreshments I I always say every year and I really I believe this is so true children who are in sports or even in music or theater arts or even the visual arts have many many opportunities to stand in front of us and be acknowledged and celebrated and children who are in the literary arts have fewer opportunities and the San Antonio Public Library is so proud of you for the work that you do. We hope you'll all keep writing because really a library needs books and books need writers. So let us thank you one more time and thank your parents as well and we do have some punching cookies and fruit in the back and we hope you'll all enjoy a little bit and please there's plenty of opportunities to take pictures and thank you so so much for being with us today.