In a concrete bunker hundreds of feet beneath the Rideau Canal, white-coated Parliamentary scientists toil through the night, carefully preserving the words of our leaders for all eternity.
Meanwhile, in my apartment in Montreal, I sometimes use the data I've gathered in creating this site to make silly, one-off toys. Here they are.
Poets, Shelley wrote, are the unacknowledged legislators of the world. Might legislators be the unacknowledged poets? I asked my computer to find out. Here are the occasions when sentences spoken in Parliament matched the 5/7/5 syllabic pattern of haiku.
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