Waiting For The Computer Seems proper to reconstruct the mind wavering, Waiting for the computer to wind up stretch its insides, There's time, a gift given, nothing lost or forsaken. Even perusing what I've recently written deciding What to submit and where, subject matter, words, expression, Flaws to find rolling seven before eleven. My wife asks,"How does this machine work?" I wouldn't know even if an engineer told me so, Mathematics wizardry is not my thing. Can't even understand the aerodynamics of birds awing, Frogs croaking and crickets learning how to sing, Bach's recordings and tsetse fly malarial stings. Hours lost in pondering are not in vain at all... Forces build mountains, seas recede, man's monuments fall, Once I was six feet tall, giving explanations is not my call. 18th January 2004 Author: Roy Schoenberg, New York.
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