ll The Jungle is my hunting ground. And week by week as I do battle, which on The Street they call, “murder and acquisition,” heads still roll, and blood still flows.

My oar, though electronic and not oaken, still navigate

Consider the following story, not as a paradigm for business ethics, but as a template for the cultivation of an adventurous spirit. We are the product of our parents and their parents. Our children's entrepreneurial success is largely in our hands.

With bold and bloody hands, the Nordic chieftain took me up. Well, not me, but my progenitor, full 40 rungs below me on the ladder. He solemnly squeeze-shut his eyes to recite the ancient, potent lay:

May thou, and thy sons after thee,
ever wield the steely sword
and ply the oaken oar.
May ye always breathe in acrid smoke,
sleep in clamor, die in battle.

If he could squint his healthful eye and peer through flames unto this time, would that hoary chieftain take up that wan smile of his to see me as I am, doing what I do?

My footfall never wakes the virgin forest, but still The Jungle is my hunting ground. And week by week as I do battle, which on The Street they call, “murder and acquisition,” heads still roll, and blood still flows.

My oar, though electronic and not oaken, still navigates

is largely in our hands.

With bold and bloody hands, the Nordic chieftain took me up. Well, not me, but my progenitor, full 40 rungs below me on the ladder. He solemnly squeeze-shut his eyes to recite the ancient, potent lay:

May thou, and thy sons after thee,
ever wield the steely sword
and ply the oaken oar.
May ye always breathe in acrid smoke,
sleep in clamor, die in battle.

If he could squint his healthful eye and peer through flames unto this time, would that hoary chieftain take up that wan smile of his to see me as I am, doing what I do?

My footfall never wakes the virgin forest, but still The Jungle is my hunting ground. And week by week as I do battle, which on The Street they call, “murder and acquisition,” heads still roll, and blood still flows.

My oar, though electronic and not oaken, still navigate

, potent lay:

May thou, and thy sons after thee,
ever wield the steely sword
and ply the oaken oar.
May ye always breathe in acrid smoke,
sleep in clamor, die in battle.

If he could squint his healthful eye and peer through flames unto this time, would that hoary chieftain take up that wan smile of his to see me as I am, doing what I do?

My footfall never wakes the virgin forest, but still The Jungle is my hunting ground. And week by week as I do battle, which on The Street they call, “murder and acquisition,” heads still roll, and blood still flows.

My oar, though electronic and not oaken, still navigate

If he could squint his healthful eye and peer through flames unto this time, would that hoary chieftain take up that wan smile of his to see me as I am, doing what I do?

My footfall never wakes the virgin forest, but still The Jungle is my hunting ground. And week by week as I do battle, which on The Street they call, “murder and acquisition,” heads still roll, and blood still flows.

My oar, though electronic and not oaken, still navigate

ll The Jungle is my hunting ground. And week by week as I do battle, which on The Street they call, “murder and acquisition,” heads still roll, and blood still flows.

My oar, though electronic and not oaken, still navigates treacherous waters. And though my weapon flows with only ink, I still lay empires in the bitter dust, sink careers before they reach deep waters, and burst open storehouses straining to retain their glistening treasure.

I’ve planned my current raid, as always, to strike and slaughter just on Woden's Day. After that, weigh my anchor! Hoist my sail! My destination? To any shore my smoke is not yet rising.

The Norseman’s lay retains its ancient potency.